Riding Palominos
by Ostrich on a Rampage
Summary: Jack and Crutchie head out to the land where dreams come true: Santa Fe. Everything, however, is not as perfect as Jack had insisted and Crutchie struggles to fit in in a place so wildly different than New York City. "I pretend and I pretend, but Jack, I ain't pretending no more. I hate it here."
1. Chapter 1

**Hey. I'm back. (Which I hope is a good thing.) This story is going to be significantly longer than any of the previous fics I've posted, so just a heads up. It's Cruchie-centric, but with plenty of Jack. (Just like almost everything else I write...) Anyway, here it is! Don't forget to review!**

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"I don't know why I ever thought this would work out."

"There was no way you could've known."

"I should've seen it coming."

"No, you couldn't've—"

"Crutchie, she is an aris," Jack complained, using the shortened form of "aristocrat" that most of the newsies would use to describe the rich and powerful in New York. He had avoided that word ever since he started dating Katherine, knowing that it was somewhat offensive. But, now… Now, he would use it with a vengeance. "I'm some kid who grew up on the streets. We were never going to be a couple. I'm just mad that I let myself fall for her when I knew, I _knew_ , that it would never last." Jack ground his teeth together, his hands clutching the railing of his "penthouse" until his knuckles turned skeletally pale. Jack sighed heavily, staring out into the dark. He examined the buildings that he knew so well from years of hawking papes in their endless shadows. Jack had lived a life in the shadows of the city and he refused to remain unknown and hidden. Not anymore. "I gotta get out of this place," Jack said firmly.

"And go where?" Crutchie asked, though he was pretty sure he knew where this was heading. Jack, every once in a while, would get into these moods where he'd moan about the injustice of New York and the necessity of space and freedom that could only be found in the Wild West. Crutchie would play along with Jack's dreams, listening to the older boy conjure up a land where everything would be perfect. As Jack pontificated about the idealistic nature of Santa Fe as opposed to the oppressive shadow that clung to New York, Crutchie would nod at all the right points, allowing Jack to get the burden off of his chest. It wasn't as if Crutchie didn't care about Jack's dreams; he just understood that Jack needed to complain to someone who was willing to listen and after he was finished, the older boy would feel better and be ready for another day in New York. It was a habit now, a reflex: each boy would take their part, with Jack venting and Crutchie nodding supportively.

Crutchie never expected Jack to act on his dreams. According to his understanding, dreams weren't meant to be acted on: they were a release from the average life, not a blueprint for the future. So, Jack's next words caught Crutchie by complete surprise.

"Santa Fe. And I'm going tomorrow."

"W-what?" Crutchie stuttered.

"I've spent much too much of my life trapped in this squalid city. I ain't gonna waste another day of my life here." Jack had a determined look in his eyes that Crutchie recognized from when they had first started the strike a couple months ago. With a suddenly uncomfortable lurch of his stomach, Crutchie realized that Jack was deadly serious. _He was actually going to go off to Santa Fe. He's really going to leave all this—all of us—behind._

Jack suddenly turned toward Crutchie, his eyes pleading. "Will you go with me?"

 _No. Heavens, no. How would I ever get along in Santa Fe? I've just barely found my place here, in New York._ "Yes," Crutchie found himself saying. He had never been able to turn Jack down, which had gotten the pair into quite a bit of trouble before. Crutchie had never really minded following Jack around, ignoring the Delanceys' snide comments about pitiful puppies and such, but at this moment, he was wishing he had found a way to stand up to Jack some time earlier. This wasn't going to turn out well, Crutchie just knew it. He didn't belong in Santa Fe. Maybe Jack did, but Crutchie sure as hell didn't. But, there wasn't anything Crutchie could do now. He had accepted Jack's offer and there was no turning back now. Whatever would happen, would happen. And Crutchie would just have to weather it as best as he could.

Slinging his arm around Crutchie's shoulder, Jack pulled the younger boy closer. "It's gonna be spectacular, Santa Fe is. You'll see. Rolling fields and opportunities springing up like dandelions in the park. It'll just be the two of us, forging a brand new life, far away from all our worries."

 _But, what if my worries are all in Santa Fe?_ Crutchie didn't look forward to the prospect of starting over anew, even though Jack seemed to think it would be the best thing to happen to the pair. "It sounds grand, Jack," Crutchie said, his stomach flipping with worry. He was going to leave everything he knew, everything he could do well, just because his friend had said it was a good idea. That didn't seem right, but Crutchie had no other choice. "But, what about the other boys? What're they gonna do, Jack?"

"What other boys?" Jack asked.

"The other newsies," Crutchie pointed out, gesturing down to where the other boys could be found, probably alternating between meaningless arguments and joking with one another. It was too early for any of them to be heading to bed just yet.

"Oh," Jack said, as if he hadn't considered what his decision to leave would mean for the other newsies. Crutchie shook his head, wondering how Jack could even contemplate decisions without deliberating how his actions would affect everyone he knew. Especially something so drastic as leaving for Santa Fe. "I guess I hadn't really thought 'bout it, yet," Jack muttered, itching the back of his scalp almost sheepishly.

Crutchie resisted smacking the older boy in the back of the head. Sometimes, Jack could just be dense. "Yeah, well, they deserve to know something."

"Guess we'll just have to tell them the truth. We'se leaving tomorrow. They can't stop us."

"You'se the leader of the Manhattan newsies. Ya can't just bail on 'em," Crutchie pointed out. If he could just get Jack to see how important his position was, how much he meant to all the boys, maybe they wouldn't leave. Maybe they could just stay where it was safe and Crutchie could be comforted by the relaxation of familiar routine.

Jack didn't appear to be listening and he was nodding to himself, which was never a good sign. "That's Race."

"What?"

"That's Race," Jack repeated. "The leader of Manhattan," he explained, "that's Race." With a smug smile, he added, "I'm retired."

"Ya can't!"

"Why not? It's a free country, ain't it?"

"Jack—" Crutchie began, but was interrupted by the older boy.

"No, Crutch. I'm gettin' out of here and Race will make a fine leader. He's been around almost as long as me." With a wicked grin, Jack continued, "Let's go tell the boys the good news!"

Crutchie really didn't think the news could be classified as good in any stretch of the imagination, but he allowed Jack to help him down the ladder and made his way, silently following, toward the Lodging House. Crutchie felt as if he were stuck in some strange dream; he didn't feel as if he were moving, but the landscape around him was shifting and whizzing past, but somehow in slow motion. It was all very weird and Crutchie felt as if was going to throw up and he still could not believe that he had agreed to go to Santa Fe— _Santa Fe_ —with Jack.

Before Crutchie knew what was happening, he and Jack were back in the Lodging House and all the boys were staring at them and Crutchie realized that somehow he had missed Jack's announcement that they were leaving. No one was speaking and the smile was slowly slipping from Jack's face. Race looked completely and utterly baffled. "Let me get this straight," he said, the words slow and carefully enunciated, as if they had been rehearsed over and over again for a middle school play. "You want me to be the leader." Jack nodded emphatically. "So you and Crutchie can run off to Santa Fe." Race did not look the least bit impressed with Jack's idea.

"You'se been here the longest," Jack pointed out. "You know the ropes just as well as I do."

"That ain't the point," Race ground out. "I ain't gonna be the leader. You is."

"No. I'se leaving with Crutchie. Tomorrow morning, we'se hopping on the first train west. I can't lead from out there. You know that."

"Then don't go," Race suggested, raising an eyebrow at Jack as if he were an errant child.

Jack shook his question. "Outta the question."

"Damn it, Jack, you can't just leave like this."

"I gotta. I need to."

"What about what Crutchie needs?" Race challenged and Crutchie was suddenly pulled into an argument he wanted no part of. He had been perfectly fine, standing on the sidelines, watching the volley of words between Jack and Race. But, now, all eyes were on him and Crutchie felt as if he were clutched with vertigo. Crutchie hated having people stare at him—which really sucked for a cripple—and it felt as if only the crutch was keeping him upright.

Crutchie realized that the other boys were expecting him to say something, anything, but nothing was coming to mind. Nothing that he could actually say. Fears of Santa Fe clouded his mind, but he couldn't voice those. Not when Jack was looking at him pleadingly. Race's eyes were hard, challenging him to go against what Race clearly wanted him to say. "I think Santa Fe will be…" Crutchie began, but couldn't find an adjective that could be used to fill in that blank. "An adventure?" he finished, hoping it didn't sound as much like the question Crutchie knew it was.

"See!" Jack exclaimed proudly. "It'll be an adventure. We'se going tomorrow and you ain't stopping us. So, Race, ya can either be the head of Manhattan, or ya can leave all the newsies leaderless. It's your choice."

"That ain't fair, Jack."

"This is New York," Jack pointed out bitterly. "When has life ever been fair?"

Race shook his head. "I guess you'll do what ya want to do and I can't stop you. But, Jack, Santa Fe may not be any better than the city."

Jack scoffed at the simple idea that that would be the case, but Crutchie found himself having to stop from nodding in agreement. "C'mon, Crutch. We gotta go pack." Crutchie followed Jack to their shared bedroom, unable to completely dissipate the bad feeling that had begun to grow in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

Crutchie was roused at the crack of dawn by Jack gently shaking him awake. "We gotta get goin'," Jack said, pulling Crutchie to his feet.

"It's early," Crutchie complained.

Jack shot his friend a strange look. "This is the time we always get up. Every day."

"Yeah, well, I generally don't spend the night before packing up all my stuff and helping you decide which of your art supplies you should or shouldn't bring. Which, by the way, I don't even know why you asked my advice, since you decided to bring everything anyway."

"I was thinking out loud," Jack explained.

Crutchie grinned. "While it may not have been thinking, it was certainly out loud."

"Oh, shut up," Jack muttered, shoving Crutchie gently. "Are you excited?"

"About Santa Fe?" Crutchie asked, feeling that familiar dark emotion settling into his stomach. He was not excited, not even remotely close to excited. Crutchie was terrified. "Why wouldn't I be?" Crutchie answered. It wasn't a yes or a no, really, but could easily be construed as a yes, which Crutchie didn't mind. Let Jack think he was excited. It's what Jack wanted.

"I don't know you just looked…" Jack trailed off, thinking. "Never mind. It's gonna be great, Crutchie. Santa Fe's where we'se gonna be truly living." Jack swept his arm around, gesturing to the room and, possibly, all of New York. "This? This ain't living. This is surviving and it just ain't right. But, Santa Fe is where dreams come true, where life is worth living. It's gonna be perfect, Crutch, I promise."

Crutchie grinned, though it felt false to him. Was Jack even capable of keeping a promise like that? "I know, Jack. I believe you."

"Good, 'cuz if we don't get a move on, we'll miss our train."

The two boys made their way to the train station, Crutchie struggling to balance the bag of his sole belongings without tipping over. Jack noticed the difficulty Crutchie was having and offered to take the bag. "No, I'm fine. I've got it."

"Don't be silly. I have an extra hand; I can carry it," Jack said, reaching for the bag.

Crutchie skipped out of the way, nearly tripping over his crutch from the sudden movement. "I've got it. I can take care of myself," Crutchie explained. Although he doubted Jack realized this, Crutchie knew that he would need to prove that he was capable of handling himself in order to get along in Santa Fe. The West was a world where a man was required to pave his own way and if Crutchie couldn't carry his own bag, he knew that there was just no way he'd be able to make it out there.

"Well, if you insist," Jack remarked, quietly. He didn't completely understand why Crutchie wouldn't allow him to be helpful, but chalked it up to one of Crutchie's independent streaks that would flare up randomly. Jack knew that his friend was overly conscious of his handicap and would do anything to prove that he wasn't any less than his friends, that he could do everything just as well as they could, if not better. Sometimes, though, Jack wished Crutchie would just let people help him. Letting someone help you did not make you less than them, but Crutchie didn't seem to understand this.

They approached the train station and Jack quickly purchased two train tickets before Crutchie could protest. Jack knew that he had more money saved up from working as a newsie and helping illustrate the paper, so he refused to let Crutchie help pay for his ticket. Crutchie would need whatever money he had when they reached Santa Fe. "Two tickets to Santa Fe," Jack announced proudly, feeling as if he were sharing his dream with the whole wide world. The man at the booth did not seem impressed and merely exchanged the money for the two one-way tickets. Well, Jack would not allow that sour man to rain on his parade. "Ready?" Jack asked, gesturing to the black train that awaited in the station.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Crutchie said, grinning. He would have a good time. Or, at least, he'd fake having a good time until he believed his own lie. Crutchie was excellent at fooling himself into believing that he was truly happy.

"It's a new chapter, where we can do anything we want to do. There's no limit to us now, Crutchie!"

Jack, almost giddily, led Crutchie up onto the train, helping the younger man maneuver up the steps and into the passenger car. There were, roughly, ten people in the car already and all of their eyes were drawn to Crutchie's leg, like paper clips to a magnet. _Is this what it is going to be like in Santa Fe? People gaping at me like some freak in the circus?_ Crutchie didn't meet their eyes, though that wouldn't have been difficult since none of them were looking him in the face, and took his seat next to Jack. It felt as if his leg was itching due to the unwanted attention and Crutchie wanted to stand up and shout, "I ain't a freak!" But, he kept his mouth shut like he always did, directing his gaze out the window.

"I can't believe we'se really leaving," Crutchie muttered, taking in the city that he had grown up in, that he had spent his entire life in. And now he was leaving it all behind. Would he ever see those buildings again, stand on the corner of those streets?

"I know," Jack agreed, "I can't believe it's finally happening."

"D'ya think we'll ever go back?"

"Not if I can help it," Jack ground out, his face darkening. Crutchie immediately released the silent hope he had been harboring that maybe Jack would grow sick of Santa Fe and they'd return to New York, that they'd return home. Crutchie now recognized that that would never happen; Jack would travel the world, flitting from place to place, lost in the wonders of the world, before he would ever consider a return. _I'll never see it again_ , Crutchie silently accepted, trying to memorize everything he had known and learned in New York. He'd never be back and there'd only be memories left.

Jack seemed to notice that Crutchie had grown quiet and, incorrectly, attributed it to exhaustion. "Hey, if ya want, ya can take a nap. I'll wake ya when we get close to Santa Fe."

Crutchie didn't want to sleep, didn't want to close his eyes and miss New York as it faded into nothing, but he found himself leaning back against his seat, obediently shutting his eyes. He felt the train jerk into motion and Crutchie suddenly needed to see New York just one more time. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, realizing that if he opened them, he was inviting tears. Crutchie couldn't— _wouldn't_ —cry in front of Jack, not when Jack was so happy, not when all his dreams were coming true. That just wouldn't be fair.

"Santa Fe, here we come," Jack said, and Crutchie could hear the excitement, the anticipation, in his voice.

In his head, Crutchie repeated the phrase, determining that he would make do with whatever life Santa Fe would provide. It couldn't be too bad. It was just a town. And there'd be horses and clay and green and it'd be pretty. "Santa Fe, here we come."

* * *

 **So, what did y'all think? I decided to expound on a different aspect of Crutchie's character, making him a bit more complex than the musical showed, so I really hope you guys can still see it as being in character. Suggestions and advice are always welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, this story is going to be around fifteen chapters. Probably longer. It depends how much crap Santa Fe decides to throw at our intrepid heroes. But, yeah, I've got about a third of the story written out already, so updates will be regular and I'm not going to leave this story unfinished; I'm too attached to some of my OCs. And Crutchie. I'm pretty attached to him, too. Anyway...**

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Green, clean, and pretty. Jack had repeated those three words over and over again, so Crutchie expected those to show up in Santa Fe at least somehow. Brown, dirty, and ugly. That's how Crutchie would describe the infamous city. Crutchie hadn't been expecting a thriving metropolis, that was for sure, but he had hoped for a quaint little town with gleaming green yards and white picket fences and smiling neighbors. The only words that had come out of Crutchie's mouth, when they had stepped off of that train with its black smog billowing out of the funnel, were, "Well, it certainly is dusty."

That had been an understatement. The entire town seemed to have been coated in a muted red dust. It clung to everything, from windows in small shops, to the skirts of the ladies that walked past them. Crutchie could taste it in the air and couldn't help fearing that this ever-present, ever-choking dust would worsen his leg, not heal it.

"It's beautiful," Jack breathed and Crutchie had to wonder if they were looking at the same town.

The train depot was just off of what Crutchie assumed was the Main Street, for rows and rows of buildings lined the road. People milled in between the shops, moving from place to place like some well-choreographed dance that Crutchie worried he'd never learn the steps to. The majority of people did not spare the two boys a second glance, but the ones that did glance in their direction, their eyes lingered on Crutchie's crutch for a few moments too long, just as he knew they would. Some would then move on to Crutchie's eyes, regarding him with such intense pity that he could almost feel it in the arid air. The rest simply turned away, pretending that they hadn't even noticed the handicap, or unsure of how to react.

Crutchie turned to Jack to see if he had noticed the stares, but, of course, the older boy was still entranced by the town that he had envisioned for numberless years. Crutchie honestly didn't know why he had expected anything else. "So, what's the plan now?" Crutchie asked, pulling Jack out of his daydreams.

"Don't have one."

"What?" Crutchie blinked in Jack's direction, hoping that he had misheard Jack or that the older boy was playing some cruel joke. Maybe Jack didn't like New York, but at least they had a bed each night and food and friends and a true home. Why was Jack ever willing to give that up for the unknown?

Jack shrugged. "I'm sure we'll find something. We'se gotta go find jobs, first."

And what did Jack expect them to do, Crutchie couldn't help wondering. He didn't think there would be newsies out here in Santa Fe. For one thing, there weren't enough street corners or customers to make a newsie necessary. And it wasn't as if Crutchie could find some job riding around on a horse. He didn't know how to ride, didn't even think Jack knew how to. Who knew how long they'd be living homeless, on the streets, until they could find some odd job in order to keep even the barest bit of food in their stomachs? This was a mistake. But, Crutchie didn't say that, wouldn't ever dream of voicing those thoughts. Instead, he shot Jack one of his patented Crutchie grins—the one that sold the most papes—and asked, "Well, where're we gonna start?"

"I thought we could check and see if they had a newspaper."

 _Oh, no. He really expects us to be newsies. Can he not see how impossible that will be?_ Crutchie turned his grin up a couple notches. "Sounds great."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, I brought a couple of my political cartoons, so I can show a couple of examples of my work and maybe they'll hire me. Maybe you could do some odd jobs around there." Jack glanced around the small town, before adding, "Doesn't look like they'd need many newsies, eh, Crutchie?"

Crutchie allowed himself a sigh of relief. Jack knew what he was doing. Crutchie could trust him. They'd figure this out. "Not many," he agreed.

"Maybe they'd change their mind when we tell them about our many years of experience," Jack joked.

"We started a strike against the newspaper company we worked for. I don't think that's what they're looking for."

"Huh. Good point. Newsies are definitely out of the question."

Crutchie followed Jack through the town as the older boy scanned the buildings, looking for something that looked even remotely like where a newspaper would be housed. Crutchie carefully memorized what each building held, noting the location of the General Store, with its wide windows and brightly painted lettering; the Bank, which was ornamented by large pillars that Crutchie expected the combined length of his and Jack's arms would not fully encircle the grooved cylinders; the Tavern, a small building squished between the Jailhouse and the Sheriff's Office that emitted a joyful sound of drunken singing and cheers and calls for "one round more!"; a small Post Office that looked as if it was more for decoration, than actual use. Outside of each building were horses, tethered and waiting. They watched Crutchie and Jack make their way past them, snorting and tossing their heads. In greeting, Crutchie thought, smiling at the animals.

Jack noticed the grin and glanced at the horses. "Give me a couple months and we'll have our own horses, riding 'round in style."

"Imagine that," Crutchie breathed, feeling the pit of fear in his stomach slowly unwind itself. "Just the two of us and a pair of palominos." He wanted to laugh at the fear that had consumed him earlier. Now that he was here, walking around, joking with Jack, it seemed completely possible. They'd find their way; how could they not? This was Santa Fe, the land where dreams come true. There was still a slight worm of worry that Crutchie figured would probably be there until they had found jobs and housing, but everything was looking up. It felt as if the sun had finally come up and Crutchie could see the opportunity that shone brightly around him.

The picture, the dream, seemed so tangible just now, with the strong scent of horses and dust in the air and the breeze stirring Crutchie's hair and the sun gleaming down upon them, warming him from toe to grin, and the muted conversations and laughter around them. Crutchie could picture him and Jack riding through the town, everyone they passed smiling or waving at them because they were _family_ now. Crutchie could almost feel the horse between his legs, could imagine the reins in his hands and the cowboy hat resting on his head. He could nearly hear the teasing conversation between him and Jack as they rode, side by side. Crutchie reveled in this future, nearly started when he recognized what he had forgotten. His crutch. It wasn't in the picture and Crutchie wondered if his subconscious was giving him cruel hope or revealing a future where he would be healed.

"This is it." Jack's words tore Crutchie out of his day dream and he realized that they had continued walking down the street and had somehow, without Crutchie's notice, stopped in front of a small building. Through the window, Crutchie could see a small printing press with a boy about their age working with it.

"It's sorta small," Crutchie observed.

"This ain't New York City," Jack pointed out, humor lacing his words.

Crutchie rolled his eyes. "I'm just sayin'," he grumbled.

Jack gently nudged Crutchie with his shoulder, the practiced pressure being almost enough to throw the boy off balance, but not enough to truly do so. Crutchie grinned, entering the small building as Jack held the door open for him. The first thing he noticed was the permeating smell of ink that seemed to seep from every corner of the room. Crutchie's nose wrinkled, unsure if the smell was overpowering in a bad way or overpowering in a good sort of way. He simply settled on describing it as overpowering.

The boy at the press looked up at their entrance. "How can I help you?" he asked, standing stiffly, his back straight. He looked like a child trying extra hard to please his elders. Which, Crutchie found ironic since the boy looked to be about his age.

"We're looking for a job," Jack said, eyeing the boy. "The pair of us has some experiences with newspapers and such and thought we might try and find some form of employment here."

Crutchie stifled a grin at the way Jack had lowered his voice and enunciated his words clearly in order to seem more educated and prepared for "some form of employment" as Jack had coined it. The boy glanced between Jack and Crutchie, before shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I'll ask Mr. Maverick. I'm Billy, by the way."

"Jack."

"Crutchie."

At Crutchie's introduction, Billy glanced at the crutch. "I can see that," he said. Crutchie wasn't certain, but he thought Billy's eyes glinted maliciously, a mean humor darkening the pupils. "Anyway, I'll just go ask him now. I'll be back in a second."

After Billy had left into some small back room, Crutchie muttered, "Maybe I should just start goin' by my real name."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know, just the way Billy was looking at me. I feel as if I'm callin' attention to my gimp leg."

Jack shrugged. "Well, ya are, but that's beside the point. You'se more of a Crutchie than a Christopher, if I ever saw one. You… you just look like a Crutchie, y'know?"

"Cuz of the crutch?"

"No, that ain't it. Christopher's such a…stiff name. You ain't stiff." Jack shook his head, grinning. "Don't know what your parents were thinking, naming you something as awful as Christopher."

"Whatever you say, _Francis_ ," Crutchie jabbed back.

"Hey—" But whatever retort Jack had been about to sling at Crutchie was lost as Billy returned with a tall, skinny man following him. The man had white hair that was slicked back with, what looked to be, immense amounts of spit. Or hair styling gel. But most likely spit, Crutchie thought, a grin playing at his lips. Mr. Maverick, for that's who Crutchie assumed it was, had a thick white moustache and a goatee, both carefully combed and styled. His eyes were gray and thoughtful: neither cold nor soft, just neutral.

"Good day, boys," Mr. Maverick said, shaking hands with Jack, then Crutchie. "Bill, here, said you were looking for jobs. That you had experience?"

"We worked for the World back in New York City," Jack explained.

"What position?"

Crutchie spoke up. "We wa—were newsies." Crutchie quickly corrected his verb usage, trying to impress the man before them. "You know, hawking papers."

Mr. Maverick stared at Crutchie, but Crutchie thought he could see Mr. Maverick's eyes smile. "I am familiar with the position. However, I must confess that I just don't have a need for the pair of you to work here."

Jack fished out some of his political cartoons. "I can draw; I used to make these for the World over in New York. If you need someone for something like that I can—"

"I'm afraid we don't need that in our humble newspaper here. You'll learn, I'm sure, that Santa Fe is quite different than New York City. I would employ you if I had the funds or positions to do so, but unfortunately Bill has everything covered."

"I understand," Jack said softly.

Crutchie glanced at Jack, recognizing the look of defeat Jack was, unsuccessfully, trying to hide. That pit of worry and fear immediately reared up, enlarging into a black hole of endless what-ifs and squandered dreams. If they couldn't get a job, they would have no money. And if they had no money, they'd starve. And if they starved, well, they'd die. As much as those thoughts terrified Crutchie, he knew that Jack expected him to simply grin and make some joke about it. So, as Jack and Crutchie were led out, Crutchie smiled widely, suggesting, "I bet Mr. Maverick heard about the strike. I bet he didn't want us and Billy rising up against him. Three versus one just ain't fair odds."

Jack grinned. "Exactly. And it's not like there aren't any other jobs here. Not for two fellas like us. Just another day, I promise."

Crutchie feared that weeks would go past with Jack repeating, "Just another day, I promise," until the words were as hollow and meaningless to Jack as Crutchie recognized them to be. Not that Crutchie would tell Jack his fears. Instead, he turned his grin up one notch higher. "Yeah, Jack, tomorrow."

Without even really thinking, Crutchie stepped into the road. Only Jack's quick reflexes saved Crutchie from being trampled by a horse and its tall rider. The horse reared backwards and the rider struggled to keep the animal under control. Crutchie's heart hammered as he pushed himself off the ground. Jack had grabbed him by the arm, yanking him out of the road and to the ground out of the way of the horse's hooves.

"What were you thinking?" the rider shouted.

"I don't think I really was," Crutchie admitted, fear and adrenalin prompting complete honesty.

The rider glanced down at the boys, the answer seeming to catch him off guard. "Huh." As he examined the pair, Crutchie studied his features. He had a sharp, hawk-like nose that was belied by soft green eyes. His hair was a dark brown that had been curled by the combined efforts of sweat and wind. "Where are your parents?" Crutchie shrugged and the man caught on to the implication. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for a job."

"Huh." The man stared at them and Crutchie fancied that he could literally see the wheels of his brain turn. Eventually, the man broke the silence that Crutchie and Jack were loath to interrupt. "You got a place to stay?"

Crutchie shook his head. "No, sir. We just got off the train from New York."

"New York, you say? What did you expect to find in a town such as this?" the man asked.

"Freedom," Jack said proudly. "Space. Somewhere to live our own lives."

"Don't know if such a place truly exists, but I suppose everyone needs somewhere to start over," the man mused softly, before smoothly dismounting his horse. The motion was so fluid, Crutchie hadn't realized what was happening until the man was standing before him, one hand extended. "The name's Claude Holloway."

"Crutchie," Crutchie said, shaking Mr. Holloway's hand. He could feel the heavy callouses that shaped the hand. The skin wasn't overly rough, but Crutchie could tell that this was a man who was unafraid of hard work out in the sun. Something about the hand shake comforted Crutchie, a feeling of peace washing that dark fear back into submission, and he didn't want to let go. Which was stupid. Jack still needed to shake hands with him.

"I'm Jack."

Mr. Holloway nodded. "Jack and Crutchie." Crutchie was pleased to note that this man didn't seem to care that his name was unconventional, in the traditional sense. "You two brothers?"

"Yes," Crutchie said, just as Jack began, "Well—"

The pair glanced at each other and Jack quickly corrected himself, "Yes," as Crutchie shook his head, "Not really."

Jack spoke up when Crutchie, embarrassed, fell silent. "We ain't brothers by blood, but we are, if ya catch my drift."

Mr. Holloway's mouth twitched with understanding. "No one can take on this world alone. It's a good thing you have each other." He glanced between the two boys before suggesting, "Now, if you don't have anywhere to be tonight, you are welcome to join me and my family for dinner. While we do not have any extra beds, we have an abundance of extra blankets and pillows and you are more than welcome to spend the night on the floor of my living room. You'd be surprised how cold it gets at night when there is no shelter from the wind."

"We couldn't possibly—" Crutchie began, but Mr. Holloway cut him off.

"My advice to you, Crutchie, is that you learn to accept help from those who are willing to offer it. This is not an offer out of pity; the both of you seem to be excellent young men and maybe I'll be able to provide those jobs you're looking for. But," Mr. Holloway added with a wink in Crutchie's direction, "how will you know if you don't accept my invitation?"

Crutchie quickly explained, "What I was going to say, sir, was that we couldn't possibly eat dinner without washing our hands first. Would there be somewhere in your house that we'd be able to wash up in?"

Jack snorted, trying to keep a straight face and Mr. Holloway's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure that we could find something that would meet your needs."

"Thank you," Crutchie said. He hadn't expected Mr. Holloway to believe him, but he had wanted to change the subject. Those words, though, still echoed in his head. _Learn to accept help_. Not that they really meant anything. Mr. Holloway didn't even know him. He was just saying that as a nice old—well, not old, but older—man. So, Crutchie didn't have to really take that advice. Because he didn't need help. Crutchie could handle himself just fine, thank you very much.

"Well, if you'd like to start earning your keep, you can help me pick up some things from the General Store," Mr. Holloway said, grinning. "And, since you both are so much younger than I am, you get to do the honor of carrying all the groceries!"

"Fantastic," Jack muttered sarcastically, but he followed the older man towards the store after he had tied his horse up. Crutchie followed a few feet behind. This was the start of something new; he could feel it. Crutchie hesitantly allowed himself to smile. He couldn't foresee anything bad happening: Mr. Holloway seemed a perfectly trustworthy man. Maybe Jack was correct. Maybe Santa Fe was the place where everything worked out and dreams came true.

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 **I'm going to try and put up Chapter 3 by the end of this week because I absolutely love it and just want to throw it out there. So, keep an eye out for that. Also, please review! Tell me what you think. Do they seem in character? Do you like the OCs? (There will be a good amount of them since this is so far from New York.) Is the story plausible? Any and all advice is more than welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow. Two chapters in two days. You're all very lucky ostriches. This week has been pretty fantastic and I'm far enough ahead in the story that I figured I could give this chapter to you early. Like, really early. This probably won't be happening again, but who says I can't spoil you every once in a while? This is the end of the exposition chapters; the next one starts our plot!**

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The Holloway house was the most beautiful building Crutchie had ever seen. It looked like the type of house that Pulitzer would own, except smaller. The roof was a deep red, tiles carefully overlaid one another in a way that would allow water to cascade off the roof in sheets. Crutchie could imagine the tiny rivulets of rain gathering around the tiles, before falling down the side of the house, a translucent curtain, shimmering in the storm. The house had a wide front porch with a wooden bench situated near the door, looking out onto the wide expanse of green yard. The bench was fitted with faded yellow cushions that, rather than looking old and decrepit, merely looked loved and well-used. It was a delightful house, Crutchie decided; one that could most definitely be called home.

Claude Holloway slowed his horse to a stop at the edge of the long, winding driveway, jumping from its back and making his way to the wagon where Jack and Crutchie were, quite uncomfortably, situated. In the town, he had hitched a wagon to his horse, explaining to Jack—whose curiosity kept him hovering around Mr. Holloway—that he had recently purchased the wagon in order to cart groceries back to the house, a good five miles from the town, but it had been left in town to be repaired. Jack and Crutchie had helped load the wagon with barrels of flour and wheat and salted pork, whatever Mr. Holloway told them to do. Crutchie had been unable to help lift the heavy barrels into the wagon, but he had quickly developed a skill at balancing the stacks of cloth that Mr. Holloway was bringing back to his wife. After everything had been packed into the wagon, Jack and Crutchie were wedged into the back and instructed to make sure nothing fell out. Then Mr. Holloway had begun the trek back towards his home.

Mr. Holloway helped Jack and Crutchie out of the wagon, before turning to the house and shouting, "Syd! JT! Jessie! Get your butts out here and help get this stuff into the house!"

The first kid to make an appearance was a short red head that swung down from a large tree in the yard. He had a soft jawline that made him look younger than he actually was and large, curious gray eyes. The boy's red hair was tousled by the wind and had a few small twigs stuck into it. "I'm right here. No need to shout," the boy groused. His voice was soft and hadn't dropped yet. He caught sight of Jack and Crutchie staring at him and stared back openly. "What are these, pa? You bring back a couple of strays?"

"These are guests and you'd do well to welcome them kindly," Mr. Holloway said, his eyes firm.

The boy dropped his eyes submissively. "Sorry, pa." He stuck his hand out toward Jack, wiggling his fingers a bit when Jack just stared at him. "I'm JT, by the way. What's your name?"

"Jack," Jack introduced himself, accepting the handshake.

"Crutchie," Crutchie supplied when JT turned to him.

"Sorry 'bout what I said earlier. It was just a joke," JT tried to explain.

Mr. Holloway's voice rang out from behind the wagon, where he was lifting down one of the barrels. "Not a very good one."

"Aw, pa, I said sorry, didn't I?" JT complained. "You can't expect too much of me."

"Oh, trust me, he can and he will," a new voice commented, his tone slightly sardonic. "I'm Syd," the older boy said, introducing himself to Jack and Crutchie. As they exchanged names, Crutchie examined the older Holloway son. He had the same dark hair as his father, but his eyes were the same as his younger brother's: a dark, swirling gray. While JT looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, Syd looked as if he had just reached his twenties, or was nearing it. He had wide shoulders, built like a farmer, and sun-tanned skin. "It's nice to meet you," Syd said, nodding at Jack and Crutchie, before hefting up the barrel of salted pork like it was nothing and carrying it in the direction of the house.

JT snorted, turning to the barrel of flour he was in charge of. "Syd's a show-off. Likes to remind everyone how big his muscles are; especially when there's a girl around. Pay him no mind." JT stared at the barrel, as if he could simply will it to move, before settling on shoving it along the dirt driveway, marking a trail behind him.

Feeling immensely useless, Crutchie reached toward one of the final barrels, deciding that he could push it just as well as JT. Jack glanced at him, but Crutchie shook his head. He could do this and Jack could take care of his own barrel. Mr. Holloway's hand stopped Crutchie from reaching the barrel, however. "Jessie can handle that one. Would you mind taking in the bag of corn and all the cloth?"

Crutchie was about to point out that whoever Jessie was, he hadn't shown up and Crutchie could probably handle it just as well, when someone from behind Jack and Crutchie asked, "I can handle what?"

Jack and Crutchie turned finding them face to face with Jessie. What Crutchie first noticed was that Jessie was not a he; Jessie was most definitely a she. And a beautiful one at that. She had long, strawberry-blonde hair that had been tied into a loose braid. Jessie had a slim figure, kept small by the constant exercise and work required on a ranch. She was wearing brown riding breeches and a blue plaid shirt that was opened slightly at the neck. Jessie had inherited her father's eyes and their dark green orbs fixated on Jack and Crutchie. "Who're these boys?"

"Well, at least you aren't as rude as JT, but you could still be a tad kinder," Mr. Holloway said, putting a hand on Crutchie's shoulder. "This here is Crutchie. And that's Jack. They're staying for dinner."

"Huh." Jessie gave each boy a once-over, before moving past Crutchie and hefting up the barrel. "Whatever you say, pa." With that, she took the barrel inside; it didn't even look as if she were straining as she carried it.

"Jessie isn't much of a fan of anyone her age," Mr. Holloway explained, taking up the last barrel. "She'll warm up to the pair of you, though, I'm sure. Just give her a while."

Jack and Crutchie mutely followed him inside, each laden with cloth and fresh ears of corn. The inside of the house was, if possible, even more beautiful than the outside. The front room was wide and open with two large windows that surveyed the front yard. A baby grand piano was set up in the corner of the room with music still resting atop the piano bench. Large shelves lined two of the walls of the rooms and were filled to the brim with books. The books appeared to be well-read, for the spines were bent and lined from being held open for hours and hours on end. A small couch was pushed into the far corner of the room, its deep red color making it look extra inviting. There was even a bust of some man Crutchie didn't recognize situated on a small three-legged table near the piano.

"Ah, Sue," Mr. Holloway said, setting down the barrel with a thump to embrace a tall red-headed woman that had appeared in the doorway. She wore a stiff white apron over a light blue dress. Her sleeves had been pushed up to her elbows and her hands and forearms were coated in flour. She frowned at her husband.

"If that barrel scuffed my wood flooring, I'll—"

But whatever she was planning on doing was lost as Mr. Holloway kissed her. Crutchie and Jack awkwardly looked away, uncomfortable around the clear display of affection. For Crutchie, it was just plain awkward; he didn't want to watch two old—well, not _old_ old—people kiss each other. For Jack, it was more than that. The kiss reminded him too much of Katherine and he had thought he had put that all behind him when he came to Santa Fe, but now he found himself missing her and if only she hadn't thrown him out, maybe they'd— Jack shook his head. He wasn't going to think about that. Not now and maybe not ever.

"Claude," Mrs. Holloway said, grinning. She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but she caught sight of Jack and Crutchie. "Hello," she said, wiping her floury hands on her apron. "And who may you be?"

Jack made no move to speak, still trying to banish Katherine from his mind, so Crutchie spoke up for the two of them. "My name's Crutchie. This here is Jack. Hello."

Sue Holloway smiled at them, immediately setting at ease the tightening in Crutchie's chest. He had been silently harboring the fear that Mr. Holloway's family would distrust the two native New Yorkers and kick them out without a second thought. Sure, Mr. Holloway was kind, but who was to say that his family would be of the same disposition? "Welcome, Crutchie and Jack."

Once again, Crutchie's unorthodox name did not seem to bother the middle-aged woman and he felt as if maybe these were people that he could fit in with, that he could actually be comfortable around. Crutchie had truly struggled fitting in with the newsies, when he first came to the Lodging House. Jack knew some of the struggles Crutchie had gone through his first couple months, but did not—could never, really—know the extent of the worry and fear Crutchie had experienced and trudged through in order to feel at home with the boys he now called his family. He had feared that his crippled leg would keep the boys from ever really seeing him as normal and it had, for a while. Then, Jack had taken him under his wing, discovering Crutchie to be the perfect sounding board for all his dreams and secret wishes. In turn, Crutchie had opened up to him, admitting some of his fears about fitting in and not being able to sell enough papes. Jack had begun to subtly mention around the other boys how good Crutchie was at selling, including Crutchie in all his conversations with the newsies. It took a couple months before Crutchie was completely comfortable around the other boys and didn't feel as if he needed to stick by Jack's side; he could talk to anyone about just about anything. The Lodging House had grown from just being shelter to an actual home.

 _Maybe Santa Fe could be something like that_ , Crutchie hoped.

"I'll have Jessie set out two extra plates," Mrs. Holloway informed the two boys.

"First, they need to wash up," Mr. Holloway said, winking in Crutchie's direction. "There's a washroom just down the hall."

Crutchie grinned back toward Claude Holloway. "I was hopin' you'd tell us where that'd be. Didn't want to get the silverware all grimy or nothing."

Jack and Crutchie followed the hallway to a small room in the back of the house with a large white sink and a small water closet to the right of it. Jack gently turned the faucet on, scrubbing his hands with the white bar of soap that rested on the back edge of the sink. He splashed some water on his face, quickly combing his hair back into place with nimble fingers. As Jack stepped out of the way to allow Crutchie use of the water, Crutchie innocently commented, "Trying to look nice for Jessie?"

"No, I'm just trying to look presentable. It's the least I can do to repay Mr. Holloway's kindness."

"Okay," Crutchie agreed amicably, washing the day's dirt off of his own hands.

"Are you ready to head back out there?" Jack asked after Crutchie had dried his hands on his pants.

Crutchie shrugged, resituating his crutch under his armpit. "As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"What does that mean?" Jack glanced at Crutchie, trying to ascertain if the younger boy was upset or unexcited about the prospect of living in Santa Fe. Jack's stomach plummeted at the thought that he had dragged Crutchie somewhere he didn't even want to be. After all, Santa Fe was Jack's dream, always had been. Crutchie had merely been supportive. And he hadn't seemed upset when they left. Or had he, and Jack had just been too preoccupied to notice? Jack scanned the younger boy's face, but couldn't read anything beyond the grin that Crutchie always had plastered on there. Was it a defense, a mask hiding his true feelings or was Crutchie really happy? Jack suddenly didn't know and that scared him more than he cared to admit.

"It means that somehow I need to remember all those table manners that Mr. Kloppman never taught us. Or that I never paid attention to."

Jack resisted sighing in relief. It was just a joke Crutchie was making. Of course. Because why wouldn't Crutchie be excited about Santa Fe? "You and me both, kid."

Crutchie rolled his eyes at the term "kid," but followed Jack back down the hallway to the living room. They stood there, unsure of what to do next. Luckily, Claude Holloway showed up shortly after they got there and led them to the dining room. "Now, it isn't anything fancy," Mr. Holloway said, "but, it is homemade and am I correct in assuming that you haven't had something like that in a while?"

Neither boy responded to the question, each enraptured in the sudden smells that emanated from the dining room. Sue Holloway was just setting down a second loaf of fresh bread in the center of the table. Syd was busy slicing up a slab of beef into thin slices that could be spread in between large slabs of bread for sandwiches. A steaming bowl of gravy had been placed carefully next to the beef. Jessie set down a bowl of oranges on the table, glancing at Jack and Crutchie, before turning away. JT was seated by the table and had swiped his finger through the mashed potatoes, licking away the white cloud of potato.

"Wow," Crutchie murmured, his stomach growling loudly in agreement. He hadn't seen this much food in one place for a very long time. Not to mention that it had been four long days on a train with only a couple sandwiches and four apples to split between the pair.

Claude Holloway laughed at Crutchie's stomach, before gesturing to the table. "Take a seat, boys."

After Mr. Holloway had seated himself at the head of the table, Mrs. Holloway took her seat across from him. JT was seated on the left of his mother and Jessie was seated next to him, on the right of Mr. Holloway. Syd was on the right of Mrs. Holloway, allowing Jack to slide down the center of the bench, next to Syd. This left the edge of the bench for Crutchie, who suddenly realized he would be sitting to Mr. Holloway's left. He'd really have to watch his manners now.

Sue Holloway briefly led the family in a short prayer, thanking the Lord for their food and their new friends. As soon as she finished and the final "amen" was out of everyone's mouth, the table devolved into uncontrolled chaos. JT was reaching across the table for the beef as Syd grabbed the mashed potatoes from across the table. Jessie had reached the first loaf of bread before her brothers and was carefully slicing it for the two ends of her sandwich. Mr. Holloway grabbed two oranges, putting one on his plate and tossing the other across the table to his wife, who caught it deftly and began peeling it.

Jack and Crutchie could only watch, mouths dropped open in shock.

"Here, take some bread," Mr. Holloway said, handing the plate with the loaf and the bread knife to Crutchie. "Cut the slices as big as you'd like." His slices of bread were about an inch thick and he was piling slice after slice of beef on the sandwich.

Crutchie followed suit, cutting his bread and then passing the loaf to Jack. They, too, added a couple slices of beef between the bread. Just as Crutchie was about to take his first bite—his mouth was watering and he didn't think he could wait much longer—Mr. Holloway gently grabbed his wrist. "Not yet," he said, eyebrows raised. Crutchie glanced around, wondering what he had done wrong. JT had already wolfed his sandwich down and was building a second one, so surely Crutchie should be allowed to eat too, right? Mr. Holloway passed the bowl of gravy to Crutchie. "Put this on the meat. It makes the sandwich truly irresistible."

After slathering a good amount of gravy onto the beef, Crutchie took his first bite. The meat was moist from the gravy, which had begun to soak into the freshly baked bread. All in all, it was the best thing Crutchie had eaten in a long time. He wanted to just sit there, immortalized in this moment of perfection, with a mouthful of gravy, beef, and bread forever resting on his tongue. "This is good," Crutchie said around his bite of sandwich. Then, realizing his faux pas, Crutchie quickly swallowed and repeated what he had said before, mouth now empty.

"I thought you might say that," Claude Holloway said, his eyes twinkling. "Here, take some mashed potatoes." He also passed the salt and pepper shakers to Crutchie, instructing him to add as much seasoning as he felt the potatoes needed.

"Why would I do that? They're perfect." Crutchie hurried and stuffed another forkful of the creamy potatoes in his mouth.

Sue Holloway smiled. "Don't flatter me, young man. These are far from perfect."

"You say potato, I say potahto," Crutchie muttered, twisting the tomato saying to fit the situation, before shoving even more of the mashed potatoes into his mouth. At that comment, Mrs. Holloway began to laugh so hard, she had to excuse herself from the table, making up some excuse about checking the oven.

The rest of the meal swept past in a tasty blur. Jessie had just brought out an apple pie—a real apple pie!—and had served everyone a slice with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream she had churned and frozen earlier that day, when JT spoke up. "So, Crutchie, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your leg?"

The table immediately quieted and Sue Holloway gently smacked her son on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Mrs. Holloway. It's a story I don't mind telling." Jack glanced at Crutchie after those words, noticing the glimmer in his friend's eye. Fighting back a grin, Jack turned his face downward to the pie. This would be interesting. "I don't know if you'se all aware the plagues upon New York City, but there are three main ones that haunt that great city. See, most people have heard of the endless rodents and the street corners that homeless people will set up their cardboard boxes and plead for scraps of food or extra coins. What you probably haven't heard of is the alligator problem in that great city."

Crutchie paused for a grand effect, but had to quickly keep talking to cover up Jack's ill-contained snort at the idea of an "alligator problem," as Crutchie had so aptly put it. "Now, this musta happened about five, six years ago, eh, Jack?"

"Seven years ago," Jack said, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual as he fought back laughter.

Crutchie snapped his fingers, as if he was just remembering, "Ah, yes. How could I forget? I was eight, had just turned a month or two before the…uh, the incident. So, I'm walking along, hawking my headlines—Jack and I were newsies, you see—and just sorta lost in my own thoughts. That was my downfall. Every kid in New York from the age of two knows to stay away from the manholes that lead down into the sewers. You know what makes its home down there in that muck, don't you?"

"Alligators?" JT breathed. His eyes were wide and he was hanging onto every word that came out of Crutchie's mouth. Crutchie took the moment to survey his audience. Syd had set his fork down and he too was entranced with Crutchie's tale. Jessie's fork hung mid-air, stuck halfway between her plate and her mouth. The piece of pie slid from her fork, landing on the plate with a soft plop, but she didn't notice. Only Mr. and Mrs. Holloway seemed to have escaped the trance of Crutchie's chair-gripping tale. Mrs. Holloway hid her smile behind a napkin and Mr. Holloway sat stone-faced, only his eyes betraying the mirth he felt.

Crutchie nodded solemnly at JT's answer. "Yes, alligators. And big ones at that. They have long, scaly bodies that stretch, sometimes, ten, fifteen, even twenty feet long! They are this murky green-brown color and have sharp yellow eyes that track your movement. Alligators have claws that can grow to be five inches long and can slice through human skin like no one's business. But the really terrifying thing about a gator is their teeth. They're sharp and jagged and grow to about three or four inches. They's got about a hundred teeth in there. No, two hundred! And although they's supposed to be white, often the teeth are dyed red from the blood of their last victim. Their teeth can cut through human bone like a rock through water. They bite down and BAM," Crutchie slammed his hand down on the table for emphasis, causing the three Holloway children to jump in unison, "your arm's gone."

Jack was just about losing his fight against laughter, so Crutchie figured he had to hurry up and finish his tall tale before the audience recognized the yarn he'd spun as nothing more than the lies it was. "So, anyway, I'm walking along with my papes in hand and I step right next to this manhole and I wasn't paying attention or else maybe I wouldn't have this gimp to work around, but all of a sudden this alligator leaps out of the sewers and grabs my right leg in its jaw. This alligator just starts swinging me around, back and forth and up and down and, really, all over the place—" Crutchie described the vicious attack, swinging his arms around to pantomime the gator's actions. He nearly knocked over his glass of water in the demonstration. "—and my papes have flown away and scattered in the wind. It's at this moment that I realize that the gator is trying to yank my leg off and I'm terrified. I realize that I'm about to die. At the tender age of eight, too.

"Now, this is when luck or fate comes into play, whichever you tend to believe in. The gator swings me down hard on the concrete and my hands fly out back behind me and I manage to grasp a large pointed stick. With a sudden burst of courage and genius, I brandish this stick and manage to poke, not one, but both eyes out of that nasty alligator! Now, as I'm sure you can imagine, the gator is unbelievably mad. It lets out this mighty roar which still gives me the shivers just thinking about it." Crutchie shuddered for good measure, noting that Jack, too, was shuddering. His friend, however, was shaking from silent laughter, not fear of the roar of a hangry alligator. "But, that was the alligator's mistake. As it roared, I slipped my leg out of its toothy grasp and crawled backwards. I had blinded the gator, so it couldn't see me and they have an awful sense of smell, so I was safe, so long as I remained quiet.

"I sat there for three—no five!—hours, until the gator finally disappeared back into its slimy hole. Then, I picked up that stick—they actually fashioned my crutch out of that infamous stick, so this is the actual weapon I used to blind that alligator." Crutchie lifted up his crutch, allowing the Holloway children to examine it with newfound awe. "Anyway, I limped home, figuring that my leg would be healed by the end of the week. It never did get better," Crutchie murmured sadly, glancing down at his leg. "But, it's better than me dying, y'know. They say it was only due to my quick thinking that I even got out of that dangerous situation alive."

"They also say it was because Crutchie, here, hadn't bathed for over a week and the alligator couldn't bear to eat such rotten meat," Jack managed to get out, his voice pitched even higher than before. His face remained serious for a record of two seconds, before he devolved into laughter, one hand pressed to his mouth to keep the raucous sounds in. But, he couldn't. Jack shook with laughter, tears running from his eyes. He'd quiet down for a second, take a glance at Crutchie, and then collapse into giggles and snorts and full-blown belly laughs all over again.

At this sudden outburst, the three Holloway kids glared at Jack, before turning to Crutchie, who was, quite unsuccessfully, trying to keep a smile off of his face. Sue Holloway was the next to crack, laughter making itself heard from behind her napkin. Even Mr. Holloway's shoulders began to shake as he laughed at Crutchie's alligator story.

"Wait. That isn't real?" JT asked, confused.

Crutchie had begun to laugh now and he explained as well as he could around the laughter that was shaking his frame, "No. We don't even have alligators in New York."

"Alligators," Jack wheezed, starting laughing all over again at the absurd nature of Crutchie's tale. "Alligators in New York." His face was turning red from laughing so hard.

"You just made that entire story up?" Syd asked, cracking a grin. "Heh. That's kinda funny."

"And you two knew?" Jessie asked her parents accusingly.

"Well, of course," Mr. Holloway said. "Alligators in New York is a bit absurd."

"Alligators," Jack repeated, his voice weak and high-pitched from trying to keep from laughing. Once again, Jack lost that war and began to clutch his stomach because his diaphragm was starting to hurt from the continued mirth.

JT fixed Crutchie with a stare. "If it wasn't an alligator, how did you mess up your leg?"

"Polio," Crutchie managed to get out, between giggles. He hadn't expected his audience to fall for that tale so completely or Jack to laugh so hard. In fact, Crutchie hadn't heard Jack laugh that hard for quite a while. Especially not since his and Katherine's relationship had ended so awfully. "But, a gator attack is much more exciting."

Jack was finally calming down, wiping the tears from his eyes, when Crutchie mentioned the gator attack and that just had him going again. It was so absurd, an alligator in New York, and Jack missed the other newsies just enough to wish that they were here to hear Crutchie's tall tale. "Man, Crutch, you can't do that to me," he complained, taking deep breaths to still the laughter.

"It was all fake? That would have been a mighty cool story," JT groused. "A real alligator attack in New York. You're right, Crutchie, it sure beats polio."

Eventually, the table quieted down and Jessie and Mrs. Holloway began to clear the empty plates from the table. Mr. Holloway led the two boys back into the living room, where Syd and JT were laying down mountains of pillows and blankets. "Make yourselves comfortable," Mr. Holloway instructed them. "I'll get you up in the morning and we can discuss your plans for tomorrow and what will happen next."

Jack and Crutchie laid out pillows and blankets, creating makeshift mattresses for themselves. The house was completely silent, since all the other members of the Holloway family had made their way to bed over half an hour ago. Crutchie had just closed his eyes, preparing himself for at least one night where he'd be comfortable before being thrown out into the wild streets of Santa Fe, when Jack's voice broke the dark stillness. "Hey, Crutch, you okay with us being in Santa Fe?" Jack was still slightly worried about what had happened in the wash room earlier that day. What if it hadn't been a joke and Crutchie actually resented Jack for—

"I survived a gator attack," Crutchie reminded Jack sleepily, "I think I can handle a couple palominos loose on the streets of Santa Fe."

Jack fought back a grin as he stared up at the dark ceiling above them. He listened as Crutchie's breathing slowly evened out. Once he was certain the younger boy was asleep, Jack allowed the smile to break through. With a soft laugh, Jack muttered to himself, "Imagine that… Alligators in New York."

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 **So, credit goes where credit is due. The idea for alligators in New York comes from an old (it's starring Fred MacMurray and if you know who he is you know the classic Disney stuff) Disney musical(?) called The Happiest Millionaire which everyone, and I mean _everyone_ , should watch. The main character has alligators and he lives in Philadelphia, not New York, but I had just rewatched the movie before I wrote this and thus we now know what could have happened to Crutchie's leg.**

 **Reviews are like chocolate covered pretzels-who doesn't love those?**


	4. Chapter 4

**So, here we are. The next chapter. I have nothing witty to say, so I guess I'll just leave it at this. :)**

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Crutchie blinked blearily as he woke up, stretching his arms above his head. Everything was so soft and warm and Crutchie was sorely tempted to just snuggle back in the blankets and slip back into sleep. But, he couldn't do that. There were papes to sell and if he didn't get up before the bell, the boys might notice—

Wait. Crutchie sat up with a start, realizing that he wasn't on Jack's rooftop. He was in some strange room with blankets piled around him like a cocoon of comfort. Crutchie examined the room, noticing shelves of books and the piano, before catching sight of Jack, who was snoring to Crutchie's left. Okay. If Jack was here then that meant… Crutchie shrugged. He had no idea what that meant or where they were.

"Oh, so you are early risers."

The words pulled Crutchie out of his musing and he glanced up at an older man with dark brown hair and soft green eyes. Then, it all came back. Katherine and Santa Fe and the train and the newspaper and Claude Holloway and the dinner. "Good morning, Mr. Holloway," Crutchie said.

The familiar sound of Crutchie's voice pulled Jack out of his sleep and Jack blinked in Claude Holloway's direction, before he too remembered what had happened the day before. "Ah, good morning, Mr. Holloway. Thank you again for letting us sleep here."

"Oh, yeah," Crutchie said sheepishly. He should have thanked him. "Thank you."

"It is shortly after dawn. If you'd like, Sue has fixed everyone some breakfast."

"Thank you, Mr. Holloway," Crutchie said, using his crutch to help maneuver himself to his feet. In the morning, his right leg was often stiff from sleep and lack of use. Today, it was even more stiff than usual and Jack had to catch Crutchie when the younger boy lost his balance. Jack pushed Crutchie to his feet and Crutchie gingerly tested his weight on his gimp leg, trying to ignore the pain that shot up and down it. Crap. He'd have to hide that from Jack.

Mr. Holloway watched the near-fall and how Jack had caught the younger boy without a second thought. It was a morning routine, he realized. As he examined Crutchie, he noticed the tenseness in the boy's face as he pressed his foot into the ground. Mr. Holloway was unsure whether Crutchie's leg bothered him each morning or if today was extra bad, but he could tell that the boy was trying to hide the flash of pain from Jack. Bringing the boys' attention back to himself, Mr. Holloway instructed, "Call me Claude."

"What?" Crutchie asked.

"Claude. I've got a name, too, you know." Claude Holloway grinned as he responded.

"Well, I figured that," Crutchie muttered petulantly. He brightened considerably, grinning at Claude. "In that case, thank you, Claude."

Claude grinned at the pair. "Come along, you two. If we don't hurry, JT will have eaten everything in sight."

Crutchie figured they'd be offered a breakfast of freshly brewed coffee—which Crutchie was undoubtedly excited for—and a piece of toast or two. Nothing too fancy, but something much more substantial than he and Jack were accustomed to on the streets of New York. This was not to be the case.

When the three men walked into the dining room, Crutchie and Jack were astonished to see that, if possible, even more food was piled onto the table. Two platters were piled high with lightly browned biscuits. There was a large dish filled to the brim with an insane amount of gravy. Small chunks of spiced sausage dotted the gravy, adding a new taste and texture. Fresh fruit was set about the table and a tall, clear pitcher of orange juice stood in the center of the table. Bread from the night before was at the edge of the table, along with the sliced beef, now chilled.

Everyone in the Holloway family had taken the same seats as the night before, so Jack and Crutchie quickly found their previous seats. Crutchie was no longer worried about sitting next to Mr. Holl—Claude. He felt unbelievably comfortable around the middle-aged man. With a quite painful jerk of his stomach, Crutchie wondered if this was how Davey and Les felt around their father. Crutchie instantly banished that thought. Claude wasn't his father and he and Jack had no need of a father. They had gotten along just fine so far.

This time, Claude offered a short prayer, before everyone began reaching for the food. Jack and Crutchie, however, were prepared for the chaos that they knew would ensue and even found themselves reaching across the table for the food they desired. After the table had quieted and the calls of "pass the butter, JT" and "don't hog the gravy, Syd" had stopped, Claude cleared his throat loudly. Jack and Crutchie quickly turned toward the middle-aged man, but none of his children did, still focused on their food. "Well, I think it was about time we decided what we're going to do about Jack and Crutchie," Claude announced, drawing the eyes of all his children on him. Crutchie swallowed nervously, the bite of biscuit he had been enjoying growing large and uncomfortable in his throat.

"Aw, pa, you aren't gonna kick them out, are you?" JT asked. "They're funny."

"It is two extra mouths to feed," Jessie observed, staring pointedly at the half-empty plates in front of Jack and Crutchie.

Syd nodded. "That's a fair point, but if they're able to earn their keep—"

"How are they going to do that?" Jessie interrupted. "They're two kids from New York. They don't know the first thing about ranches."

"Maybe if we taught them?" JT suggested.

Crutchie felt as if he was going to throw up. He couldn't bear listening to the three Holloway children bicker about whether or not it was worth it to keep Jack and Crutchie around. As much as he hated it, Crutchie found himself siding with Jessie. They weren't going to be much help, merely a hindrance on the Holloway's food supply. Crutchie glanced at Jack and noticed the older boy was a shade paler than normal. _We won't have anywhere to go. We don't have a plan. We're going to starve to death and Jack realizes it_. Crutchie felt as if he were going to cry. It was bad enough that he knew what would happen when they were tossed out of the Holloway home, but if Jack knew what would happen? Crutchie had been depending on Jack's optimistic hope to keep them afloat, keep them searching for employment and shelter, but if Jack understood the severity of their situation, all hope was lost.

"Look," Claude interrupted his children, "Sue and I already discussed all of this last night."

Crutchie felt even sicker, if that was possible. He had been so happy, so warm last night, and the Holloways had been passing judgement on whether he and Jack were worth the effort to keep them around. And Crutchie knew that if he vomited here in front of the Holloways, that would certainly seal the deal and he and Jack would find themselves out on the street just as soon as Crutchie had cleaned up his mess.

"We were thinking," Claude continued, oblivious to the distress Crutchie was in, "that with Clark having gotten married and moved out we could use another pair of hands out on the ranch with us."

 _Oh, god._ Crutchie felt his hopes shatter. They only needed one person and with his gimp leg Crutchie knew exactly who they were going to pick. He shot Jack what he hoped was a supportive smile, but feared it was more of a grimace. This was good, Crutchie tried to convince himself. It meant that Jack would be cared for, would be fine. It meant that Jack could make his way in Santa Fe just as he had always dreamed of. _It means that I'm going to starve and die out here_ , a small voice reminded Crutchie.

Jack seemed to realize the implication of Claude's words just as Crutchie attempted a smile at him. "Now wait a second," Jack said, standing up angrily. "I ain't staying here unless Crutchie's here with me."

"No," Crutchie hissed, pulling Jack back to his seat. "Don't give this up for me. Who's to say if you get another opportunity like this?" Crutchie wouldn't let Jack give up his chance for a good life just because he had happened to make friends with a kid sporting a useless leg. "I'll be fine," Crutchie tried to reassure Jack, but he knew that he wouldn't be. Not out here where survival called for four working limbs. Crutchie recalled the way that Claude had watched him get up in the morning, his leg still stiff, and knew that he had probably reconfirmed the decision the Holloways had come to the night before.

"I dragged you here and I ain't leaving you," Jack hissed back.

Crutchie noticed the eyes of every member of the Holloway family watching the two of them. "He'll take the job," Crutchie informed them, hating how his voice cracked slightly. He wasn't going to cry. Not here. Not ever.

"If Crutchie ain't welcome here, then I'm not either," Jack said, standing up once again and stepping away from the table. "Come on, Crutch. We can find our way some other place."

Crutchie remained seating, but he gestured for Jack to return to the bench. "Please," he nearly pleaded. "Don't give this up because of my stupid leg."

Claude cleared his throat once more and Jack and Crutchie guiltily turned to him. Crutchie hated that he and Jack had made a scene in front of the family. If only Jack wasn't so stubborn and would just take what could, very possibly, be his only chance for life out here. "I didn't say who we wanted."

"Well, Mr. Holloway, I think it's pretty clear—" Crutchie began, gesturing at his leg, but he was interrupted by the older man.

"It's Claude and I would appreciate it if you both sat back down and finished your breakfast. If you're eating, you'll be quiet and I can finish talking." Mr. Holloway's eyes were hard and Crutchie obediently picked up his fork and tried to swallow a large chunk of biscuit slathered in gravy. The food lodged uncomfortably in his throat and Crutchie had to finish off his entire glass of orange juice to avoid choking on the biscuit. Beside him, Jack glared at his plate, but made no move to eat anything. _Don't ruin this,_ Crutchie silently pleaded to his best friend. _Please don't ruin this on account of me._

"As I was saying earlier," Claude continued, "Sue and I were thinking about how Clark had left us and we were short a man, so we were thinking about taking Jack on as an extra rancher." Jack's eyes shot up angrily and he opened his mouth to make some retort that Crutchie just knew would obliterate his chance of happiness, but Claude cut him off. "I'm not finished, Jack, so if you could please hold your tongue, I'd appreciate it. After last night—and especially after this little incident at the breakfast table—Sue and I recognized that we couldn't possibly separate the pair of you."

The ire in Jack's eyes seemed to melt away into hopeful confusion at the final sentence. "So, you're saying…?" Jack trailed off, hoping Claude would fulfil his hope.

"Maybe I should've started with this, but, yes, Jack, we plan to take both of you in." Claude grinned at the two boys, proud to be the deliverer of good news.

And it was good news, Crutchie had to admit, but he couldn't help the way his stomach plummeted uncomfortably. Although Claude hadn't specifically spelled it out, Crutchie recognized that only Jack would be able to earn his keep. Crutchie would be a freeloader, a heavyweight. Only there for meals and shelter. Once again, Crutchie felt as if he would vomit. He didn't want to be so dang _useless_.

"They're staying?" JT asked excitedly. Claude nodded at his youngest son and JT pumped his fist happily. "Yes! Can Crutchie share my room?"

At the same time, Jessie asked, "They're staying?" Unlike JT, however, her voice held obvious disdain. "Pa, we can't possibly take these kids in. It's impractical."

"Kids?" Jack shot back. "I'm seventeen and Crutchie here is fifteen. Hardly kids."

"Fifteen?" JT cried out excitedly. "So am I!"

Claude gave Jessie a pointed look. "Now, Jessie, you may be eighteen already—and just by a month, may I remind you—but I guarantee that these 'kids,' as you call them, have experienced much more of the horrors of life than you could even dream of. If anyone deserves to be called adults, it would be these two. Jessie, you've lived a sheltered life in a family who loves and cares for you and provides food and housing for you. Jack and Crutchie haven't had that, were forced to grow up on the streets of New York. They were lucky, in fact, to even have each other out there. So, I would watch who you call kids."

Jessie had the good sense to glance down at her plate sheepishly. "Well, I didn't realize…" she trailed off, taking a drink of orange juice.

"So, if the pair of you have finished—" Claude said, glancing at Jack and Crutchie's now empty plates. Jack, after realizing that Crutchie would be staying with him and finished wolfing down the biscuits and gravy and Crutchie had forced the rest of it down, not wanting to waste food and knowing that he would probably get hungry later. "—you can make a sandwich from last night's dinner for lunch, later today. Jack, you'll be out on the ranch with Syd, Jessie, and I. We'll show you the ropes of ranch work. Crutchie, Sue will help you get situated. Most likely, you'll be going to school with JT."

"All right!" JT shouted, reaching across the table to high five Crutchie. "I'll introduce you to Phillip and the boys."

Claude grinned at JT, before gesturing to Syd, Jessie, and Jack. "Come on, let's get a move on. We're running late and we've still got to teach this boy how to ride a horse."

"It can't be too hard," Jack protested.

Syd laughed. "We'll see what you think tonight when you feel as if your legs are about to fall off. Come on, I'll show you how to saddle Blackie. She's gentle and will probably be the best for you to learn on. Grab some food; we won't be back until sundown."

Jack excitedly made a sandwich for later that day, wrapping it in the bandana Sue handed him. He turned to Crutchie, who was watching him. Jack's smile faltered a bit as he noticed the blank look on Crutchie's face. The younger boy wasn't showing any emotion: happy or sad. "You okay, Crutch?" Jack asked.

It was if Jack had flipped a switch. Crutchie beamed at Jack. "Yeah, imagine going to school! And JT said he was going to introduce me to his friends. That'll be cool."

Jack stared at Crutchie. He sounded excited, but it still seemed slightly… off. But, Jack knew that Crutchie wouldn't want him to pry in front of the Holloways, so he mentally made a note to ask Crutchie what was going on later that night. Smiling back at his best friend, Jack upheld Crutchie's façade, "Yeah, you'll have to tell me all about it when you get back. But don't let all that fancy book-learning make you think you're smarter than me."

Crutchie rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Jack. You have fun out there. And save a palomino for me."

"Of course," Jack said, before growing serious and lowering his voice, "You be careful out there, Crutchie. Your leg still bothering you?"

"It ain't—"

"I saw you this morning."

"That was this morning," Crutchie muttered. "It was stiff. You know it does that sometimes. I'm fine."

Jack watched Crutchie warily, trying to determine if the younger boy was telling the truth. "Okay, but you know you can tell me if it's hurting you or anything. I don't think less of you for that. You know that, Crutch."

Crutchie nodded. "I know, which is why I didn't tell you anything. It's not hurting that bad. I'm fine. Now go ride a horse and, uh, do whatever it is that ranchers do."

"And you go learn something smart."

Crutchie grinned, watching Jack follow Syd out the back door, laughing at something the older man was saying. He should be happy. They had a place to live—a home, not that he would say it out loud; that might break the magic spell—and wouldn't have to worry about where their next meal came from. Jack was going to get to ride horses around and carve his living out of the dust, just like he wanted. All their dreams about Santa Fe were coming true. And yet… Crutchie was worried that he was only being taken in so that Jack would stay on as a rancher. There really wasn't anything Crutchie could do to contribute and he recognized this and he was pretty sure Claude and Sue recognized this also. And now they were going to pay for his education.

"Whatcha thinking about?" JT asked, interrupting Crutchie's train of thought.

"Nothing."

"You don't have to tell me," JT said, gathering a few books and putting them in a leather saddle bag that he strung over his chest. "You think a lot, though. I noticed. You just get sorta quiet and that's how I know you're thinking."

"I didn't realize it was so obvious."

JT shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I don't care, anyhow. But, we do need to get a move on if we're going to get to school on time. It's two miles away and we've got to walk. You can walk that far, right? Of course you can. You were a newsie. Grab some food and ma will get you a bag to take to school. Oh, man, I can't wait to tell Phillip about you and Jack. How you two just showed up and now you get to live here. Does that make you my brother? I've always wanted a little brother. But are you younger than me or am I the younger one? My birthday is in February. The 17th, actually. I hope ma and pa let you stay in my room. I'll show you all around town. There's this one place—"

Crutchie smiled at JT's incessant jabber. He could do this. And, who knows? Maybe school would be fun and Crutchie would find a place to fit in and contribute. Jack was right, Crutchie decided as he watched the sun rise higher into the sky as the two boys set out to the schoolhouse. This was the start of something new and everything would work out. Crutchie felt buoyed up by his new hope. He would prove himself useful, even if that was just by getting good marks. The Holloways would not regret taking him in.

* * *

 **I've come to the conclusion that Jack is an optimist and Crutchie is a realist disguised as an optimist. Opinions?**

 **Also, the other day I was talking to my roommate (my job has employee housing) who is about three times my age and we were discussing our music tastes and she mentioned that she really like Oldies and it took all my self-restraint not to respond with, "I'm more of a Newsies person." She wouldn't have understood... :( Ah, well, questions, comments, and concerns are always welcome! Have a fantabulous Wednesday!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Well... Did I say it would be fifteen chapters? It looks like its going to be nearer to twenty. Which is totally not my fault. I had a character totally insert himself into the plot, entirely changing the focal point of the ending. And then Jack was complaining that he wasn't getting enough chapters to himself, so I acquiesced to that. And then Crutchie kept asking for a chapter about his birthday and I really couldn't say no to that-you all know that Crutchie is my kryptonite. So, yeah, the story will be longer than initially expected. That being said, since I'm letting some of the characters have a say in ideas for chapters, I might as well let my readers have opinions, too. If you are looking for a scene between two specific characters or have a concept for a chapter, I'd be happy to try and fit it in. You'd be surprised how malleable this plot is... And, wow, that was a long author's note. If you're still reading this, you might want to just move on to the story. It's much better than this never-ending rambling, I promise.**

* * *

The trip to the small schoolhouse went by much slower than Crutchie expected. While two miles was not even remotely far for him to walk after spending his entire life walking mile after endless mile hawking headlines, his leg was not in the best shape for a long walk that morning. The only thing that kept him moving was JT's constant stream of chatter. The red-headed fifteen year old was so talkative that Crutchie had to wonder if, before Crutchie had joined him on the road to school, JT would talk to himself, simply to ward off silence.

Crutchie was unbelievably grateful when the small red schoolhouse came into sight. His leg was borderline shaking as they turned the last corner and started on the final stretch toward the school. Crutchie had been starting to worry that his leg was going to give out and he'd fall to the ground. That had only happened once before: his leg had been stiff the morning he got up, but Crutchie had figured it to be something that he could just walk off. Throughout the day, his leg would tremble and the tremors eventually got so bad that his leg simply gave out. Crutchie had fallen to the ground and, to his horror and fear, he could not stand. Jack and Race had had to help carry Crutchie home, much to his embarrassment. He had been bedridden for over a week, the tremors of the leg somehow developing into pneumonia. While Jack never actually said anything about that time, Crutchie knew just by looking at his face when he brought the incident up that he had been very close to death. Race had later joked that Crutchie's leg was good for more than just selling papes and forecasting the weather: it could predict when Crutchie was getting sick.

And Crutchie prayed he wasn't getting sick just now. He couldn't afford to, not when he had to prove to the Holloways that he could earn his keep. Somehow.

JT was oblivious to the way Crutchie had almost stumbled a second ago, or how the other boy had started to slow down. Or, Crutchie realized with a start, maybe he wasn't oblivious and had just slowed to match Crutchie's pace. Crutchie stole a glance at the exuberant red head, as he gestured wildly while talking. JT kept a steady stream of one-sided conversation going. "—and then when you meet Phillip and the boys, I want you to tell them your alligator story. You know? About how the alligator got your leg and you poked its eyes out? You need to tell it. That was hilarious. I don't care that it's not true. Let's just pretend it is; it can be a secret between the two of us. Maybe we can even convince Ms. Briarwood. D'you think she'd believe it? I mean, she is a teacher, so maybe she knows that there aren't alligators in New York. But, she hasn't _been_ there—at least I don't think so—so, she's gotta believe you since you've actually lived there. You're more of the expert, you know. Well, then again, ma and pa haven't been to New York, as far as I know, and they knew it was a joke. Maybe we'll just have to stick to telling the other kids and not Ms. Briarwood. Hey, Phillip!"

JT broke of his rambling to wave frantically at a boy across the schoolyard. A boy that looked to be their age ran over, skidding to a stop in front of JT and Crutchie. He had straight black hair that extended to the nape of his neck and dark, piercing black eyes. Phillip's skin was a soft dusky color that was slightly too dark to be the result of a tan. It was rumored that Philip Beaurocrav was directly related to Spanish royalty and the boy held himself as regal as if he were a Spanish prince visiting Santa Fe and was forced to interact with the mere peasants that abided there.

"Who's this?" Phillip asked, examining Crutchie. His eyes would miss nothing, Crutchie realized, as he straightened himself up. He didn't want the new kid to think him weak or anything just because his leg had decided to have issues that morning.

"This is Crutchie," JT introduced happily. "Crutchie, this is Phillip."

Crutchie extended his hand to shake with Phillip, but Phillip glanced down at the hand with disdain before turning back to JT. Immediately, Crutchie pulled his hand back, embarrassed that he had been turned down so coldly. "You're late," Phillip accused.

JT rubbed the back of his head, laughing. "Breakfast was…well, it was interesting. We got a late start."

"This kid didn't hold you up?" Phillip asked gesturing to Crutchie.

"His name is Crutchie," JT reminded Phillip. "And, no, he can walk plenty fast. We just got left late." JT then turned to Crutchie. "Hey, Crutchie, tell Phillip what happened to your leg."

Crutchie started regaling the tale about the alligator, happily dramatizing the story. JT was playing along, nodding and exaggerating right along with Crutchie. Phillip, however, was not amused. At the end of the story, JT stole Jack's line about not bathing and broke into laughter. "That's not real," Phillip pointed out.

"Well, yeah, that's the point," Crutchie said, grinning. "It's a joke."

Phillip turned to JT. "I don't think you should be friends with boys that lie all the time."

JT grinned, "Oh, we aren't friends. We're brothers. Ma and pa took him and Jack in. Next time you come over, you'll have to meet Jack. He's really cool, but he's seventeen, so he's out working on the ranch with pa."

"Well, clearly, he'd have to be the one working out on the ranch," Phillip commented, his eyes flicking meaningfully to Crutchie's leg.

Crutchie felt his face burn with shame. He kept trying to be nice to Phillip, but the boy would just stare and poke fun of his leg. Crutchie didn't understand how JT wasn't noticing how cruel Phillip was being, but Crutchie figured that JT just didn't see how his friend could be mean. Well, he was used to this, had grown a tough shell to protect against cruel words and gestures. He hadn't had to depend on it for a while, though. Disregarding his time spent in the Refuge, Crutchie had always been surrounded by people who didn't see him for his crippled leg. And, besides, once Phillip saw and understood that he was a normal boy like him, the comments would end.

The bell in the schoolhouse rang, just then, signaling that the students were to make their way into the small red building and find their seats. It was a one room school, with the different reading levels split between separate benches. A woman with coarse blonde hair pulled into a bun stood at the front door, examining each child that made his or her way into the schoolhouse. All of her features were small: her beady brown eyes, the wisp of a mouth that curled into a constant frown, and the prim nose that barely projected from her face. Crutchie assumed that this was Ms. Briarwood, the teacher JT had been talking about.

She held up a hand, stopping JT and Crutchie as they were about to enter the building. "Who is this?" she asked, studying Crutchie. He tried to smile at her, but her continued frown in his direction dropped the grin.

"This is Crutchie. He's living with us now and since he's fifteen, ma said he should go to school with me," JT explained.

"We go by our Christian names here," Ms. Briarwood said, coldly, "don't we, John-Thomas. Nicknames are not the sign of a learned man. What is your Christian name, boy?"

Crutchie frowned. He hated the name Christopher. "My name's Crutchie," he tried. Maybe Ms. Briarwood would make an exception.

"What kind of parents would name their child something as awful as Crutchie?"

"First off, Crutchie ain't an awful name. It's my name. And secondly, you don't even know my parents, so maybe they would 'ave named me Crutchie. You don't know that they didn't. Not everyone has—" but Crutchie cut himself off. He wasn't particularly keen on delving into his past and what his parents had been like.

Ms. Briarwood stared at him. "Disregarding your clear lack of knowledge about how to properly use this language, I believe you were talking back to me."

JT shot Crutchie a nervous look, but Crutchie ignored it. He was sick of people looking at him weird because of his leg or making fun of his name. It was _his_ name; why did they care? "Maybe I was."

"I do not think you understand what happens when you speak back to a figure of authority."

"Oh, I think I've got a pretty good idea," Crutchie said, a smile playing at his lips as he remembered the strike.

Ms. Briarwood bristled with contained fury. "Step to the front of the room, boy."

Crutchie complied, ignoring the way that JT was shaking his head fearfully. "See, I'm from New York," Crutchie explained, "and I was a part of the newsboy's strike just a couple months ago. Trust me. I know what it's like to defy authority. Especially, when that figure of authority is abusing their power."

The class breathed in sharply and Ms. Briarwood's face contorted angrily. "Wrists out," she commanded.

If Crutchie had known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have put them out so quickly and compliantly. Ms. Briarwood suddenly had a wooden switch in her hand and she flicked it down on Crutchie's exposed wrists. He gasped at the stinging pain, looking down at his now red wrists. It came down again and again, but Crutchie kept his eyes straight ahead and refused to react to the burning pain. He had had worse. Although this stung like no other, Crutchie had been stuck in a room with the Delancey brothers before and knew what true pain was.

Ms. Briarwood seemed to recognize that Crutchie wasn't going to react, so she quickly said, "Turn around and bend over." When Crutchie didn't move fast enough, she forced him over, so his butt was in the air. It was an awkward position for Crutchie and it was straining his bad leg in a way that Crutchie knew he'd be unable to uphold for too long. With a crack, the switch landed on Crutchie's bad leg and he was unable to hold in the cry of pain. Ms. Briarwood almost smiled, but settled for asking, "What is your Christian name?" Crack. "Your Christian name, boy?" Crack. "Tell it to me." Crack.

The pain was unbelievable. Ms. Briarwood had recognized Crutchie's right leg to be his weakness and was only hitting the back of that leg. Tears were pooling up in Crutchie's eyes, but he couldn't give in. Not to someone like Ms. Briarwood. It was like Snyder in the Refuge, Crutchie realized, and if you gave in, you were never allowed your pride back. But, this was more than just painful. Crutchie could hear giggles from some of the classmates. He was turned away, so he couldn't see who was laughing, but Crutchie figured that Phillip was involved somehow.

Crack. The switch fell on Crutchie's leg and the limb completely gave out. He fell face first onto the floor, unable to move fast enough to catch himself. "Stand back up and tell me your Christian name."

Crutchie glanced at the switch held easily in Ms. Briarwood's hand and then moved onto her cold, impassive face. It would be easier to just give in. If his leg hadn't been hurting from that morning, Crutchie would have continued taking the punishment, but he knew that he'd need to walk home and allowing an angry teacher to mercilessly whip his leg would not be helping him. "It's Christopher," Crutchie muttered lowly.

Ms. Briarwood smiled triumphantly. "Well, Christopher, that wasn't so hard. Now, extend your wrists one last time."

Crutchie stared at her in dismay. He had told her, hadn't he? Why would she continue to whip him? But, he recognized that if he didn't obey her immediately the punishment would be worse, so he put his wrists out. Two quick cracks and then Ms. Briarwood set the switch aside. "The first one was for your impudence and the second was for lying about being part of the strike."

Biting back a retort that he _was_ part of the strike, Crutchie glumly stood and made his way to where JT had saved him a seat. "You should have just told her," JT whispered. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Crutchie muttered, sitting down. It was hard to do so; his right upper thigh stung and he imagined that he had a large welt there, making it extremely painful to sit down. "I've had worse."

JT breathed in sharply. "So, what pa was saying last night, about you and Jack and, uh, all the horrors of life, that's true?"

Crutchie sighed. "New York ain't an easy city to grow up in."

A shadow fell across the table and Ms. Briarwood was suddenly there, standing above them. "Christopher, what are you doing?"

"Sitting here?" Crutchie asked, unsure of what Ms. Briarwood was expecting. His pride was being worn down and he really didn't want her to pull that switch out again.

"Have you ever been to school before?"

"No, but I can read just as well as—"

Crutchie was cut off by Ms. Briarwood's glare. "I didn't ask for an explanation. Just a yes or no answer."

"No," Crutchie admitted.

"No, ma'am."

"No, ma'am," Crutchie repeated, hating the forced obedience.

"In that case, Christopher, you need to be up with the beginners." Crutchie was about to protest, but Ms. Briarwood continued speaking, "And if you can read as you claim you can, then you will read from this primer after midday recess. For now, though, we will work on our arithmetic." Ms. Briarwood pulled Crutchie out of his seat and pointed to an empty seat over near three young children, probably six or seven.

Thoroughly humiliated, Crutchie took his new seat, ignoring the way Phillip and a few other boys began whispering viciously and grinning maliciously in his direction. He could do this. Just until that recess, then he would prove he could read.

It took forever for recess to come around, but eventually Ms. Briarwood waved the students out. Crutchie limped over to where JT remained sitting at his desk. His limp had become more pronounced after the whipping of his right leg, but Crutchie quickly arrived at JT's side. "You coming outside, JT?" he asked.

JT shook his head sadly. "I didn't bring my homework from last night, so I have to sit in here. You go have fun, though."

"No, I'll sit with you. Keep you company," Crutchie said, sitting down on JT's left.

Ms. Briarwood looked up. "Go outside, Christopher."

"Can't I—"

"Outside, Christopher," she repeated, her voice even colder.

"Yes, ma'am."

Crutchie slowly made his way out into the schoolyard, hating the entire rotten school. Well, he could stand out here for a couple minutes. That wouldn't be too hard.

"Eh, crip!"

Crutchie stiffened at the call, turning to face the speaker. Phillip. He should have expected this. "Whatcha doing out here, crip?"

"The name's Crutchie," Crutchie ground out.

"Yeah?" Phillip asked, taunting. "And how're you planning on making me call you that, _crip_?" The name was emphasized, the 'p' spat out like poison. Phillip shoved Crutchie in the chest and it was only by fast reflexes and, unfortunately, muscle memory, Crutchie was able to stay upright.

"Back off, Phillip," Crutchie muttered, turning and limping away. He stumbled forward, though, when a rock was thrown into his back, right between his two shoulder blades. This time, Crutchie wasn't able to catch himself and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, his breath catching in shock.

"You don't call me Phillip. You call me 'sir,'" Phillip instructed.

Crutchie snorted. "I ain't calling you 'sir.'"

Someone, probably Phillip, pressed his boot onto Crutchie's back, pinning the boy down. "You do, or you aren't getting up." When Crutchie made no move to say anything or do anything, someone else knelt by Crutchie's head and smeared a handful of mud on his face, half of the sticky mess getting into Crutchie's mouth. "Come on," Phillip taunted, "Say it."

Crutchie was desperately wishing that JT was out there. He'd put a stop to it. With a sudden start, Crutchie realized that he wasn't 100% sure JT would stop it. These were his friends. He had just met Crutchie the day before. Maybe he'd side with them. Crutchie felt as if someone had punched him hard in the gut. He just wanted Jack to be there; Jack would fix everything.

A boot suddenly connected with Crutchie's bad leg and he jerked in pain. Crutchie's tormentors laughed at the reaction and he was kicked again. And again. Finally, Crutchie cried out, "Okay, okay! Just stop!" His leg felt as if it had been sat on fire and Phillip and the boys were merely watching him burn.

"Say what?" Phillip asked, his voice as slick and poisonous as a snake.

Crutchie hated the words coming out of his mouth, but he was willing to say whatever he needed to just to get them to stop torturing him. "Whatever you want, sir."

Phillip and the boys whooped cheerfully. "And don't you forget it," Phillip commanded, kicking Crutchie's bad leg one last time.

The bell rang and all the kids dashed toward the door. Crutchie slowly pulled himself up, using his crutch to keep his balance. He wiped the mud as best as he could from his face and his clothes, but it wouldn't completely come off. Pushing back the tears that pricked at the corner of his eyes, Crutchie limped toward the dreaded schoolhouse. At least now he could prove that he actually could read and maybe he'd be able to sit by JT.

Ms. Briarwood stared at Crutchie's dirty face in disapproval. "What happened to you, Christopher?"

"I tripped," Crutchie said slowly.

"Well, sit down and open up to page 34. Read that to me." With a cruel smile, she added, "If you can."

Crutchie opened up the primer that had been set on his desk and flipped through the pages. 30. 32. 36. Page 34 wasn't in the book. It had been ripped out. "I can't read that page because—"

Ms. Briarwood cut him off with a cold stare. "Yes or no, Christopher."

"No, but it's because—"

"No, what?"

"No, ma'am," Crutchie muttered, admitting defeat. He had been set up to fail. Behind him, Crutchie could hear Phillip and his posse laughing at his failure.

"Well, in that case, you will be with the beginners. Often," Ms. Briarwood said, addressing the class, "people will pretend they can read and fall for their own lie. However, if one hasn't gone to school, there is no possible way for one to have learned how to read. Besides, we shouldn't expect too much from Christopher. It seems that he is a compulsive liar."

Phillip called out. "Yeah, earlier this morning, he tried to convince John-Thomas and I that an alligator had messed up his leg in New York."

Ms. Briarwood frowned disapprovingly at Crutchie and spoke up before JT could defend his friend. "Lying will not be allowed in this classroom."

Crutchie merely bowed his head. Maybe being submissive would be the easiest way to weather this awful schoolhouse. Crutchie hadn't expected Santa Fe to be perfect when he traveled with Jack from New York out West, but he certainly hadn't foreseen finding himself trapped in another, more legal, version of the Refuge.

The remainder of the school day crept by and Crutchie had never been more thankful for the clock to reach 4:30 PM. JT was by his side instantly. "Come on, let's go," he said, walking with Crutchie out of the building. JT was silent until they were out of the yard and on their way home. "I'm sorry about everything that happened today."

"It's fine," Crutchie muttered quietly.

"No, it's not fine. Ms. Briarwood was unfair and she shouldn't have kept hitting you. Is your leg okay?"

"It's fine," Crutchie bit out angrily. To be completely honest, the limb was shooting raging fire up and down with each step. The trembling had increased and Crutchie was terrified that he was going to get pneumonia again, even though that was absurd; it wasn't even cold—even though it was the middle of October—so he couldn't get sick. "And I'd appreciate it if you don't tell Jack what happened today."

"But—" JT began, but was cut off as Crutchie continued.

"Or anyone in your family." Crutchie glanced at JT and noticed that the redhead looked torn between doing what Crutchie had asked and reporting to his mother the horrors from school that day. "Please?" Crutchie pleaded. "It's okay. I've been through worse and this really is nothing."

"I don't know…" JT said, but Crutchie could tell he was relenting.

Crutchie smiled. "Trust me. I can handle this."

JT sighed. "Okay, but ma and pa would do something to help you."

"Don't worry about it."

The pair made the long trek home, taking extra-long since Crutchie would need to rest his leg every once in a while, to his embarrassment. JT patiently allowed Crutchie all the breaks he needed, filling the silence with stories from his childhood and comments about the people who lived in Santa Fe. Crutchie was grateful for the steady stream of conversation and that JT didn't seem to expect him to talk back.

Upon reaching the Holloway house, JT announced their homecoming by slamming his bag of books on the ground. "Pick that up!" Sue shouted from the kitchen.

"Hi, ma," JT said, grinning. "We're home."

"How was school?" she asked, coming out of the kitchen. She took one look at Crutchie's dirt-covered face and quickly took his face in her soft hands. "Crutchie, what happened? Are you okay?"

Crutchie grinned. "I fell. I was tryin' to race some of the other kids—you'd be surprised how fast I can move with this crutch—and I tripped over this rock and landed in the mud."

Sue clucked her tongue. "Well, you better get washed up for dinner."

JT glanced at Crutchie, shocked at how easily the other boy had managed to fool his mother. If JT hadn't been there and known how sad Crutchie was on the way home, JT would think that Crutchie had just returned from one of the best days of his life. His happiness seemed so real.

"I'm not very hungry. Just tired. I think I'll wash up and go to bed early," Crutchie told Sue.

She examined Crutchie, but could see nothing fake about his smile or his statement. "Okay. Will you be upset about sleeping on the floor of JT's room? Claude and I are going to get a bed to put in there, but it won't be until this weekend. We were thinking of putting Jack in Syd's room."

Crutchie's heart plummeted. They were separating him and Jack. Well, maybe that was good. If he was in the same room as Jack, Jack would certainly notice the bruises and welts and all-around pain in his leg. "Sounds great!"

"You can sleep in my bed, tonight," JT told Crutchie. "I'll make a fort and sleep on the floor."

Crutchie grinned gratefully at JT. "Thanks. Anyway, I think I'm going to go turn in."

After washing up, Crutchie stared at his reflection. His jaw was bruised from where he had hit his face on the ground. His wrists were still red from earlier and he could feel a raised welt on the back of his leg. With a sigh, Crutchie straightened his back and made his way to JT's and his room. He hadn't been lying; he had been dealt worse. But, that didn't make it any less painful, Crutchie decided as he laid down and pulled the covers to his chin. He turned away from the door so that anyone looking in would think he was sleeping and wouldn't notice the tears tracking his cheeks.

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 **Please review! Any advice and/or suggestions are welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

**So, as it turns out, I'm going on a spur-of-the-moment vacation with my family and I won't have access to internet for about a week and a half. Just a warning. That being said, I am not abandoning this story and will be back; it'll just take a while for me to update. As some form of appeasement, I am offering you this chapter to keep you from eating me, or something else horrendously cannibalistic.**

 **Plus, Jack finally gets a chapter to himself! Yay!**

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Jack stepped away from Crutchie, unable to completely shake the idea that Crutchie wasn't perfectly fine. Crutchie had said his leg had only bothered him because it was morning and most mornings were difficult until he had walked around and worked the tightness out of the bum limb, so that could very well be true, but Jack wasn't entirely sure why he couldn't just accept Crutchie's explanation. And then there had been the way he had looked so blank, so emotionless, after Claude had announced that they would be staying with the Holloways. Jack had no idea why Crutchie wouldn't be happy about that. They had found their place in Santa Fe; wasn't that what Crutchie wanted?

It was just too confusing, Jack decided, continuing to where Syd stood. The older man clapped his hand on Jack's shoulder. "Now, you better stay on that horse at full gallop, or else I lose a dollar to Jessie."

Jack laughed. "I think I'll manage."

"Oh, we shall see," Jessie muttered, sweeping past the boys and out the back door.

"Ignore her," Syd said, leading Jack out to the back yard. "She's just bitter that pa is taking on you and not Gabriel Valdez. He's this Mexican that recently showed up and Jessie really likes him." Syd lowered his voice, "Don't tell Jessie, but pa found out that Gabriel actually was run out of Mexico after stealing over a hundred head of cattle and selling them illegally up here. He doesn't trust the kid. Gabriel is really nice and comes over to dinner quite a bit—you'll meet him eventually—but, pa just doesn't trust him as a ranch hand. He's worried that, if the money gets tight, Gabriel will just run with whatever he can get his hands on. So, if Jessie treats you badly, it's probably because of that."

"Okay," Jack said, because he really didn't know how else he was expected to respond.

Syd directed Jack to a building that was directly behind the house. "This is the stables. It's where we keep the horses," he explained. "We've got five, which is a lot to keep, but pa, Jessie, and I all use one each day. Clark took his when he moved out, so we used to have six. You'll probably get to keep one of them as your own. I don't know. We'll have to see what pa says."

The pair entered the stables and Syd showed Jack around, introducing him to each of the horses. There was a large gray stallion named Storm. He had dark eyes and he huffed in Jack's direction, but when Jack moved to put his hand out and touch the horse's nose, Syd grabbed his hand.

"That's pa's horse. He'll bite your fingers off unless pa is with you. And even then, he might nip you. Stay clear of Storm."

"This one's mine," Syd said, leading Jack to a deep brown mare. "Her name is Cunegonde." Noting Jack's look of confusion, Syd explained, "It's the name of the most beautiful girl in Voltaire's _Candide_. I really liked the book when I got her."

"Obsessed is the more accurate term," Jessie muttered, as she led a palomino out of the stables. "He was quoting it. 'Let us cultivate our garden.' Every. Single. Day. That is, until ma told him to go cultivate his own garden outside."

"It's an excellent tale. I highly recommend it," Syd told Jack, before gesturing at the horse Jessie was leading out. "That's Strawberry. She's totally off-limits." Syd snorted, glancing at Jack. "Both, actually. I saw the way you were looking at her earlier."

Jack scoffed. "I wasn't looking at her."

Syd merely grinned. "I mean, she is your age and—"

"No, trust me, I've had enough of women for the moment," Jack ground out.

"Yeah?" Syd asked, opening the stall door for a brown horse with a black nose and black socks. "What happened?"

Jack shrugged. "We weren't who we expected the other to be. There were too many differences and, in the end, I didn't make her happy. I guess she didn't make me happy, either. She wanted someone who could fit in at those hoity-toity parties she hosted and sip champagne and wear suits with bow ties and cummerbunds and say all the right things and laugh at all the right parts. It wasn't me. And, to be fair, she couldn't fit in my world, for all she tried. She got along with the boys all right, but sometimes it felt as if she were lookin' down on us and maybe she was. She didn't understand what we had gone through and though she tried to understand, it wasn't the same; some things you've got to live through to get. I guess, you just got to get through the hard parts of life together to really, truly love one another."

"I'm sorry," Syd said softly.

"Don't be. It was bound to happen. You don't just go crossing class lines like that and not expect to get burned."

"Is that why you ended up here?"

"I needed a change, so Crutchie and I took the next train outta that city."

"Crutchie wanted to come?"

Those four words tore the breath out of Jack's lungs and he tried to keep his face impassive. "Why d'you ask?" Had Syd seen something in Crutchie that Jack hadn't? Jack glanced at Syd when the young man remained quiet. "Do you think he don't want to be here?"

"Well, no, I was just wondering. Your story made it seem like you were leaving for you and Crutchie wasn't entirely involved." Syd shrugged. "But, he doesn't look sad out here and if you two are such good friends, then I believe you that he wanted to come."

"Santa Fe had always been our dream," Jack explained. But, had it been Crutchie's dream? Jack knew that it had been his for sure and Crutchie had always enjoyed listening to Jack talk about the glories of the Southwest, but had it been his dream? The question worried him and Jack added that to the list of things he needed to talk to Crutchie about that night.

"That's cool," Syd said, bringing out the horse. "This is Blackie. She's a bit old, but she's gentle, so you should be fine. First, you need to put the bridle on the horse." Syd gently took the black leather and worked the bit into Blackie's mouth, showing Jack all the steps. He then removed it and handed it to Jack. "Your turn."

Jack felt as if he was bothering the horse, putting metal into Blackie's mouth, but she didn't seem to mind. Once the bit was situated behind her teeth, Jack slipped the black leather behind her ears, pulling the reins into place on the back of her neck. "Like that?"

Syd nodded. "Yeah, exactly. You're catching on quickly. Though, the bridle is the easiest part. Next, you need to know how to saddle a horse." Syd handed Jack the heavy saddle, showing him how the pommel went in the front, so he could tell which way the saddle should sit. Syd guided Jack as he placed the saddle on Blackie's back and showed him how to cinch the buckle around Blackie's stomach. "There. Now you're ready to ride."

Jack quickly found himself standing in the stables, holding Blackie's reins while Syd saddled Cunegonde. The horse glanced at him, her dark brown eyes wide and curious. She seemed to understand that he had no experience with horses and stood there patiently, gently obedient. "Now, don't do anything mean to me. I'm just starting out," Jack told her. Blackie nudged his shoulder, nuzzling his hair a little bit. Jack laughed. "Thank you. I'm gonna hold you to it, though."

Waving his hand, Syd motioned for Jack to bring Blackie out of the stables. Once they were outside, Syd loosely looped Cunegonde's reins around the fence post and turned to Jack. "Saddling a horse is one thing. Now you need to know how to actually get on a horse."

Syd showed Jack how to put his left foot into the stirrup and swing his body into the saddle. Jack's first attempt had him falling backward, his left foot stuck. Syd caught him and, much to Jack's embarrassment, had to practically lift him into the saddle. "You'll get it next time," Syd promised.

Now that Jack was on Blackie, he realized that there was no way he'd ever be able to get off the horse. Horses were a lot taller than he had expected. He was good and truly stuck. Jack sat there, the reins lax in his hands, unsure of what to do next. Jack was completely out of his element on this beast and he had no clue how to make it move.

Across from him, Syd swung up onto his horse with a practiced ease that Jack doubted he could ever attain. "Flick the reins a bit," Syd instructed, demonstrating what he meant. Cunegonde stepped forward, shaking her head slightly.

Jack hesitantly flicked the reins and Blackie started walking. "Okay, this is nice and all, but how do I tell her where to go?" Jack asked as Blackie turned around and began heading toward the edge of the fence where grass gathered at the base of the posts.

Syd laughed and directed Cunegonde over to where Blackie had stopped to munch on the grass. "Just tug the reins. You don't have to do it very hard. Blackie's pretty responsive. You know, just guide her where you want to go."

"Like this?" Jack asked, pulling at the reins to get Blackie to leave the grass and begin walking. He shifted the reins to the right and Blackie turned. He grinned as Blackie did what he wanted. "This isn't so bad."

"Come out to the fields and try it while she's galloping," Syd suggested. "Then you'll really be riding a horse." He nudged Cunegonde past Blackie, before breaking her into a quick trot. "Come along, Jack!"

"How do I get her to run?" Jack asked, flicking the reins fruitlessly. Blackie simply strolled along. She shook her large head, as if she were telling Jack that they'd get there when she was good and ready.

Syd wheeled Cunegonde around and leaned over to smack Blackie on the rear. She took off, almost at full gallop. "Sometimes Blackie needs a little persuasion!" Syd shouted at Jack.

Jack clung to the reins for dear life, having not expected to go from a slow amble to a gallop. He gripped his knees against the base of the saddle, trying to remain seated on the horse. Behind him, Jack heard Syd advise, "Move with the horse, Jack! If you sit like a stone, you'll fall off." Slowly, Jack loosened up, allowing himself to bounce along with Blackie. It wasn't so bad, Jack decided as he became accustomed to the movement of the horse. Jack grinned. This was even fun, feeling the wind in his hair, the sun warming his cheeks. Jack pulled the reins and Blackie turned, not slowing in the slightest. This was freedom. It was like flying, Jack decided. Or, it was as close to flying as humans would ever get.

Blackie eventually slowed down and Jack pulled her to a stop. He turned back to see where Syd was and saw the young man motioning for him to come back. With some clicking and a short tug on the reins, Jack had Blackie trotting back over to where Syd and Cunegonde stood. "You're doing okay," Syd informed him. "You shouldn't have to tug on the reins that hard, but you'll learn the pressure to use with practice. Anyway, we've got work to do. Follow me."

Syd urged Cunegonde forward and they broke into a gallop. Jack quickly spurred Blackie after Syd, absolutely loving the feeling of the wind in his face. Jack decided that he could live on the back of the horse. He didn't feel totally comfortable yet, but he figured the comfort and ease that Syd rode his horse would come with time. Jack could not wait until Crutchie was out on a horse with him, the pair riding along in the sun without a care in the world. He resolved to teach Crutchie how to ride just as soon as the pair of them had a free day to spend out on the ranch.

"What're we doing?" Jack asked as Syd pulled Cunegonde to a stop at the edge of one of the wood and barbed wire fences that spread across the field every which way.

"The most glamorous part of ranching: we're mending fences," Syd said, spreading his arms with a flourish. He glanced at Jack expectantly.

"I'm not going to cheer, if that what you'se waiting for," Jack told him.

Syd laughed. "I know it's not the most exciting aspect of ranching, but it is important. We can't have the cattle or the sheep running around, scot-free. Besides, this is the best for new ranchers. This way, you're able to get better at riding and you'll be able to see all of our property. We're just going to ride along the fence, checking for any breaks and then fixing them, if there are any. Like this," Syd said, gesturing at the section of the fence they had stopped at. The barbed wire was peeling away from the wooden post. It looked as if something had forced itself through the small gap between the post and the barbed wire that had been pried away.

"What would get in here?" Jack asked, dismounting when Syd did.

"Probably a coyote. Pa and Jessie will take care of it. They're making the rounds, checking on the stock. There are a couple dogs that stay out here to keep the coyotes at bay, even if they do manage to get through the barbed wire. Now, let me show you how to fix a fence and then you can patch up the next one." Syd pulled a pair of pliers from a saddle bag that was strung onto the saddle and showed Jack how to reattach the barbed wire and twist it back together. Syd gave the repaired part of the fence an experimental tug, before deciding that the fence was good. "Just like that."

"It doesn't look too hard," Jack said, remounting Blackie. He had a little trouble, but at least he was able to get up without Syd's help.

Syd seemed to notice how proud Jack was for getting atop his horse and nodded in Jack's direction. "See, you're already getting it."

They rode along the edge of the fence and Jack ended up repairing to separate parts. Eventually, Syd pulled up under the shade of a tree. "It's about one," Syd said, studying the position of the sun in the sky. "We should probably have lunch." Jack hadn't realized how hungry he was until he tore into his sandwich. He leaned back against the base of the tree—the horses having been tied to a post of the fence a couple feet away—and closed his eyes, enjoying the shade. Jack hadn't expected it to be so hot, mid-October. Syd's words interrupted Jack's thoughts. "What were your plans when you got here?"

"We didn't have any. Just to find jobs and our place, I suppose," Jack said around a chunk of his lunch.

Syd swallowed. "I guess it was lucky you ran into pa."

"Yeah, it was."

The pair was quiet for a while, until Jack asked, "How old are you, Syd?"

"Oh, I'm twenty-one. Clark—he's the one that just got married—is twenty-four. You'll probably meet him on Sunday. He and Mae-Anne, his wife, generally come over for Sunday dinner." Syd winked at Jack. "I bet you think I'm old."

"No, not compared to—" Jack cut himself off, embarrassed of where that sentence had been headed.

"Not compared to pa?" Syd correctly guessed. "That is a good point. It's good to have fathers around to remind you of your youth." Syd realized that his comment of fathers may have offended Jack and he quickly tried to cover it up. "I mean—"

"It's fine. I ain't needed a father for nearly a decade." Jack sighed. "Neither has Crutchie, actually. He was real young when he joined the newsies."

"How'd you meet?" Syd asked.

Jack closed his eyes, remembering what it had been like those days. "I had just found the newsie lodging house; an older boy, Buzz, brought me in. Saw me freezing my butt off on the edge of the sidewalk and took me over there. I was almost nine and that's a good age to take in a new kid. They're old enough to learn, but young enough to sell papes like no other. I had only been there for 'bout a month, when Crutchie was brought in. Stripes, the leader at the time, was excited to have a real, honest crip among his ranks and went about teaching him, even though Crutchie was only seven. The kid was a fast learner, but I don't think he liked it there: everyone called him Crip and he hated it. Since we were both new, we hung together. I didn't know his name, but I didn't like calling him Crip. One night, we stayed up extra late, going through hypothetical names for him. He decided on Crutchie and after re-introducing him to the newsies, the name stuck. After that, the two of us stuck together. The group of newsies fluctuates quite a bit, so it was…it was nice to have a constant, someone that you knew would always be there. When I decided to come here, I couldn't picture this town without Crutchie. It's always been the two of us and it always will be."

Syd sipped from his water canteen. "Crutchie is a much better name than Crip," he agreed. "If you're ready, we need to keep going. We're only about a third of the way through and dinner is at sundown."

Jack groaned.

* * *

Syd showed Jack how to brush Blackie down and get her plenty of feed and water in her stall. "Always make sure you take care of your horse after a day of work. Pa can't stand a man who doesn't care for his animal. It's downright cruel and we won't stand for cruelty in this home."

Jessie entered the stables, leading Paint behind her. "How was it?"

"I'm about ready to chop my legs off," Jack responded honestly. The constant motion of the horse had wreaked horrors on his thighs and backside, creating a dull ache that Jack was pretty sure would last for an annoying amount of time.

Jessie snorted, but said nothing else as she took care of Paint. "Hey," Syd called out to his younger sister. "You owe me a dollar. He didn't fall off. He actually did pretty well."

"Is that so?" Claude asked, entering the stables.

"I wouldn't use the term 'well,'" Jack muttered sheepishly. "I just about fell off when Blackie first started running."

"Hah!" Jessie shouted, pointing at Syd. "And it's galloping."

Syd shook his head, grinning. "He _almost_ fell off. Jack stayed on, so you still owe me."

"Come on, we shouldn't keep Sue waiting with dinner," Claude said, ushering his children and Jack out of the building.

Inside, Sue and JT had already set the table and were discussing JT's day at school—minus when Crutchie had been sent to the front of the classroom and punished; JT wasn't going to betray Crutchie's trust. Jack immediately noticed the lack of Crutchie and how only six plates were set out, instead of seven. "Where's Crutchie?" he asked. Then he realized he had completely interrupted JT and his mother's conversation and backtracked, "I mean—"

"He was tired after he got back from school, so he just went to bed. I imagine he's fast asleep by now," Sue explained.

"Oh," Jack said, glancing at JT, who had suddenly grown interested in rearranging the dishes of food so that the loaf of bread on the table was nearest his plate. He had wanted to talk to Crutchie after dinner, but Jack would have to wait until the next morning. "Okay."

"He's fine," Sue told Jack.

That did nothing to alleviate the string of worry for his friend that had begun to make itself present. Jack spent the entire dinner trying to push his worry and frustration away and it wasn't until JT let Jack into his room to check on Crutchie that his fear began to leave him. Crutchie's back was to them, but his breathing was even and normal. "He's doing okay in school?" Jack asked.

JT shrugged. "It's just been one day." It was a noncommittal answer, but Jack didn't notice, too preoccupied on making sure his young friend was okay.

Jack nodded, placing his hand on Crutchie's shoulder. After years of sharing a room, it felt strange to know that he'd be sleeping across the house from his best friend. "I'll see you in the morning, kid."

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 **Next chapter will be more exciting, I promise. You've just gotta hold on, kid. I will update just as soon as I can when I get back home. Anyway, reviews and advice are always welcome!**


	7. Chapter 7

**So, I'm totally not dead and back with another chapter! Family vacation was a blast. I mean, yeah, I was stuck in a car with my siblings for at least ten hours every day, but there was a lot of singing along to musicals, so it wasn't too bad. (I think I've had _Suddenly Seymour_ stuck in my head for the past three days...) Anyway, we're back to the regular once a week updates. Wednesdays will be my update day unless something crazy happens like I get sucked into Middle Earth or run into Andrew Keenan-Bolger on the street. Enough rambling...**

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Crutchie slowly blinked away the remnants of sleep. He turned over on the bed, coming eye to eye with JT. "Hey," the redhead said. "You doing okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Crutchie asked, stretching his arms above his head.

"Um, well," JT began awkwardly. "With what happened yesterday at school, I thought…"

Crutchie swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "JT, I'm fine. Trust me, okay? What happened yesterday at school, that's not even that bad. I've had worse. It really isn't anything I can't handle."

"What could be worse?" JT asked. Crutchie shot him a guarded look, but JT wasn't asking to be malicious; the boy was simply curious.

Crutchie sighed. "Back in New York City, there was this, uh, it was a home to shape troublesome boys into upstanding citizens called the—the Refuge. Snyder ran the Refuge, but he didn't care about the boys, just the money the city provided him. During the strike, I, uh, wasn't able to get away when the cops came and started beating everyone and I was taken to the Refuge." Crutchie paused, before clearing his throat. "It was—well, it was absolutely the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I expected it, though. I mean, Jack had told me about what had happened when he was in the Refuge, years earlier, but you're never really ready. Not for—that. So, uh, with Ms. Briarwood, it—it isn't _that_ bad."

"Did…" JT trailed off, unsure of whether he should ask Crutchie this, but he wasn't willing to back down now. "Did they beat you?"

Crutchie laughed bitterly. "Crips can't run away or fight back. I was an easy target."

"Oh."

Shrugging, Crutchie reached for his crutch, which was leaning against the edge of the bed. "Yeah, well, it happens."

"It shouldn't," JT pointed out.

"Lots of things shouldn't happen, but still do. It's part of life."

"Yeah, well, all that crap ends now," JT said, helping Crutchie stand up. "You've got a family now, so you can always turn to us for anything. You don't have to suffer alone."

"I'm not suffering," Crutchie said, gasping as he straightened his leg out. JT shot him a nervous look, but Crutchie waved it away. "It's fine. I just slept funny."

JT still looked worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yep," Crutchie said, limping forward. "I've been working with this gimp for years now; I'm pretty sure I know what's going on."

"If you say so," JT said, still watching Crutchie carefully. "Ma's going to have breakfast ready soon. You're probably starving after not having dinner last night."

Crutchie didn't have the heart to tell JT that he knew what it meant to be starving and missing one meal wasn't even remotely close to that crippling hunger that drove you to do anything for even the smallest of morsels. Crutchie quickly pulled on a fresh shirt, before following JT out of their shared room. He ignored the way his leg had completely stiffened up the night before. It would just take some extra movement to bring it back to normalcy. Or, as normal as the gimp ever got. As soon as he got into the kitchen, he was accosted by Jack. "What happened to your face?"

"Good morning to you, too," Crutchie said cheerfully.

Jack hesitantly reached out and touched the bruise that blackened Crutchie's jaw. He jerked his hand back immediately when Crutchie flinched at the gentle touch. "Did someone do this to you?" he asked, his voice low.

Crutchie's grin faded slightly as he recalled the switch falling against the back of his bad leg. His leg throbbed with the ghost of the injury. And then his legs had given out and he had pitched forward, his jaw taking the brunt of the impact. "Nah, I just tripped out in the schoolyard. I was racing with some of the boys," Crutchie explained, sticking to the story he had told Sue, just in case she and Jack compared notes.

"You would tell me if someone were—" Jack cut himself off in JT's presence, but he held Crutchie's gaze, making sure the younger boy understood what Jack was trying to express.

"Of course, Jack, but it's no big deal. I tripped. My own crutch betrayed me, can ya imagine that? It was my downfall, yesterday. Get it? _Downfall_? It's a pun," Crutchie explained, when Jack didn't even smile at the poor attempt at a joke.

"And how's the leg?" Jack asked, his eyes immediately training on the way that Crutchie was leaning heavily on his crutch.

"It's fine," Crutchie said, grinning at his older friend.

Jack gestured at Crutchie's leg. "That's fine?"

"Okay, so my leg's bothering me a bit. It's no big deal."

"What, it's gonna rain?" Jack teased.

"I don't think that's what it's telling me."

Jack shot Crutchie a nervous look. "You aren't getting sick, are you?"

"No, I just slept funny last night. I'm really fine." Crutchie smiled. "Anyway, how was ranching yesterday? You, uh, chase some cows or whatever it is that ranchers do?"

"I mended fences."

Crutchie barely hid the snort of laughter, trying to hide his humor by rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. "I don't remember that in your flowery descriptions of the wonders of Santa Fe."

"Well, I learned to ride, too. Sorta. I'm not as good as Syd or the others."

"We've all been riding since we were toddlers," JT pointed out. "You're just starting out, so you won't be as good."

Jack glanced at him. "That's your piece of wisdom?"

"Outta the mouths of babes," Crutchie said, grinning.

"You're probably younger than me," JT shot back.

"Nuh-uh," Crutchie said, shaking his head and grinning widely. "My birthday's in November. Yours is in February. I remember you telling me. You probably thought I wasn't even listening."

"Damn it," JT swore.

"Hey, kids shouldn't be using that type of language," Crutchie said, frowning exaggeratedly at JT.

Jack was glad to see that Crutchie and JT were good enough friends to not mind poking fun at each other. Jack had been a little perturbed when Claude had first announced that he and Crutchie would be split up, but perhaps it was for the best. Crutchie was spending his days with JT and Jack with Syd, so they might as well room with them.

"Well, in maturity—" JT began.

"I've still got you beat," Crutchie finished.

The pair laughed, JT trying to frown at Crutchie, but not quite succeeding. Jack watched as they resumed making their way to the dining room for breakfast and noted how when Crutchie stumbled slightly—his leg really was not nearly as "fine" as Crutchie claimed it to be—JT was by his side, making sure he kept his balance. Jack felt something akin to jealousy seize at his chest, but he shook the dark feeling away. Crutchie needed friends and it wasn't as if Jack was going to be around him at all times anyway. It was good that he and JT were already growing so close.

"Okay, but I can ride a horse better than you," JT was saying.

"That ain't fair!" Crutchie cried out indignantly. "I'se only been out here for a couple days!"

"Tough beans."

Jack grinned. He knew that he had found his place in the Holloway house and he was glad to see that Crutchie had also. Jack followed the pair into the dining room where a giant frying pan filled with scrambled eggs was steaming in the center table.

Sue looked up at their entrance and was instantly over to Crutchie's side. "Crutchie, what happened?"

"I told ya, Sue, I tripped yesterday."

"You didn't say you had a bruise," she gently accused.

"Didn't know I had one 'til I got up this morning." That was a lie, but Crutchie figured it wasn't an absolutely awful one. He hadn't wanted to upset her, so didn't that excuse lies like that? Crutchie lived according to his own personal philosophy that a lie was acceptable so long as it was keeping someone from getting hurt.

"Does it hurt?" Sue asked.

"Nah, I've had worse."

Jack noticed that JT flinched at those words and wondered why that would be. Unless… It seemed completely unbelievable, but Jack could only figure that JT would be flinching if he had inflicted worse pain on Crutchie. But, they had just been laughing like the best of buds. Was it all a charade? Jack decided that he'd confront JT about it after breakfast.

"You know what will make it better? A warm breakfast," Sue declared, sitting Crutchie down at the table. JT took the seat on Crutchie's left and Jack was forced to sit on the opposite side of the table beside Jessie. Fan-freakin-tastic. Jessie shot him a cold look, before turning away. Jack couldn't understand why she hated him so much; he hadn't done anything to her. Okay, so maybe he had taken Gabriel Valdez's job, but that was Claude's choice, not his.

The family was soon digging into the scrambled eggs, salt and pepper passed around the table in a dizzying choreography that reminded Jack of one of those carnival games where you had to guess in which cup the ball was in; the shakers moved faster between plates than even the quickest eyes could follow.

Jack watched Crutchie from across the table and noted how he maintained an animated conversation, but barely touched the eggs that he had scooped onto his plate. JT and Claude—with whom Crutchie was regaling a story about the time he had gotten lost out in a snowstorm and had been forced to find shelter at Medda's theater, which had accidentally led to him being part of the show, much to Jack's amusement—did not seem to notice how little food was actually making its way into Crutchie's mouth, but Jack did. He planned to ask Crutchie about it after breakfast. After he had talked to JT.

As breakfast drew to a close, Syd nodded to Jack. "You ready for another day in the saddle?"

"I say yes, but my legs say no," Jack said honestly.

Syd laughed. "It'll get better. Come along, then."

"I'm gonna go tell Crutchie something quickly," Jack said, jerking his thumb to where JT and Crutchie were packing their lunches. "I'll be out in a moment."

Jack went over to where Crutchie and JT were standing and Crutchie looked up at him in surprise. "Whatcha doing over here? Giving up the ranch life?"

"I wanted to talk to JT," Jack said, fixing JT with a stare.

JT pulled out of Jack's gaze, glancing at Crutchie in confusion. Crutchie could only shrug. He had no idea what Jack wanted with the young redhead. "Um, okay."

Jack led JT over into the hallway, before demanding, "Did you hurt Crutchie?"

"What? No! I wouldn't—"

"Did he really trip? Is that how he ended up with the bruise?"

"Yes, he fell down and landed on his face," JT said, figuring that was as close to the truth he could get to without Crutchie getting mad at him. "Look, it happens to all of us. And he's fine. He said so himself."

"And you believe him?"

JT gaped at Jack. "Why wouldn't I? It's Crutchie; he can handle himself. He's had worse, you know," JT added, crossing his arms.

"What do you mean by 'worse'?" Jack asked.

"Well, you know," JT said quietly, "The Refuge."

"He told you about the Refuge?" Jack was surprised how quickly Crutchie had grown to trust JT, even to the point of discussing his time in the Refuge.

"Not really what happened, but I know the basics."

"In that case, just keep an eye out for him. I don't want him getting hurt."

JT sighed. "Yeah, neither do I. Now, if you're done interrogating me, I've got to go pack my lunch and Crutchie and I have to leave for school."

Jack followed JT back to the kitchen, where Crutchie handed the Holloway boy his lunch. Jack nodded at Crutchie, before heading out to the stables to get Blackie ready for what he expected to be another day of mending fences. "What was that about?" Crutchie asked.

"He wanted to know if I was the one who bruised your face."

"What did you say?"

"I stuck to your story. But, Crutchie, maybe you should just tell him the truth."

Crutchie shook his head. "No, he would freak out. Besides—"

"You can handle it," JT said, finishing Crutchie's sentence. "I know, but sometimes I worry."

The two boys grabbed their bags and set out toward the school house. It took longer, this time, as Crutchie's leg kept seizing up while they walked. JT pretended not to notice and told Crutchie stories about how their family ran the ranch and when JT had gotten his first horse. Crutchie was grateful the redhead ignored the grimace of pain Crutchie tried to hide as he limped resolutely to the schoolhouse.

Upon their arrival, Phillip sneered at Crutchie, the rude glance being lost by JT, who excitedly started talking to members of Phillip's posse. Crutchie limped past Philip and his buddies, making his way into the schoolhouse; he didn't want to be out in the yard with them for any longer than he had to be. However, inside wasn't much better. Ms. Briarwood fixed him with a cold stare, pointing to the front bench. Crutchie took his seat, unwilling to argue back. His leg still hurt from the day earlier and he would do whatever it took to avoid another punishment like that, even if it meant bowing to the tyrannical teacher's will without a second thought.

The first half of the day dragged on with Crutchie bored out of his mind. The primer book that he and the three six year olds—named Susie, Grant, and David—were instructed to work on was insanely easy for Crutchie to read. After skimming its entire contents, he turned to helping the three young kids sound out the more difficult words, teaching them tricks to remember the spelling and pronunciation of the harder words.

Eventually, the mid-day recess came along. Crutchie followed JT—thank goodness he wasn't banished to his desk once more; Crutchie wasn't sure he could take another round of Phillip's bullying—outside. JT immediately joined in on a game of kickball with the older kids. Crutchie was pleased to note that Philip was playing the game also. Which meant that Crutchie would get time to himself, without having to worry about the other kids bugging him.

He pulled out his lunch: some biscuits that had had honey slathered into the inside. Crutchie took the first bite, enjoying the crunch the crystalized honey created in contrast to the soft, flaky nature of the bread. He had just taken his second bite, when one of Phillip's lackeys stepped into Crutchie's line of vision. "Whatcha eating?" he asked.

Crutchie resisted rolling his eyes. "Lunch," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He wasn't trying to antagonize the boy, but the lackey must have picked up on the tone of voice Crutchie was attempting to hide.

"Yeah?" the boy challenged. "I bet it'd taste better with some dirt in it."

Crutchie was in awe how poor this kid's threats were. He hadn't thought the Delanceys were geniuses, by any measurement, but compared to this boy, they were on the fast track to becoming renowned mathematicians; they at least understood the art of threatening someone. The kid knocked the remaining biscuits into the ground, kicking at the bread until they were coated in dirt. He snickered before walking away.

Crutchie glanced at the dirtied food, before shrugging sadly. It wasn't as if he were hungry anyway.

The rest of the day crawled by painfully. Crutchie ignored the rude gestures and the hateful notes that were "accidentally" left on his desk, pretended that he didn't hear the vicious whispers behind his back, and carefully avoided Phillip's gang after one lackey successfully managed to knock Crutchie's crutch from his grasp and send him sprawling onto the ground. By the time JT and Crutchie had returned to the house, Crutchie's leg felt as if he had set it on fire and then forgotten about it and had just barely remembered the hungry flames licking up and down his limb. Crutchie knew that it would be difficult to hide the soreness of his leg from Jack's ever-watchful eye. That didn't mean he couldn't try.

Dinner was nearly impossible, what with Jack constantly trying to make eye contact with Crutchie and every time he did, glancing meaningfully at Crutchie's leg. So, Crutchie was trying to avoid eye contact, all while paying attention to JT's story about the rabbit he had once hidden in his room and commenting at all the right parts. Not to mention, that he had to make it look like he was eating plenty of food, even though the smell of the chicken Sue had cooked was making him feel nauseous.

The stress of juggling everything he was expected to do was leaving him exhausted and Crutchie was beyond grateful when Claude pushed his chair back, signaling the end of the meal. "Does anyone want to play dominoes?" Syd suggested.

Jessie rolled her eyes, clearing her dishes and leaving for her room, which Crutchie took as a sign that he, too, could just head to bed.

JT grabbed Crutchie's arm. "You want to play? I'll teach you."

"Uh, not today. I'm pretty tired. I think I'm just going to go to bed," Crutchie said.

Jack shot Crutchie a significant look, but Crutchie waved it off. He was fine. Just tired. And if he laid down, he could take his weight off his leg and then that would be fine, too. Jack watched Crutchie limp to the room he shared with JT, but didn't follow the younger boy. Jack knew Crutchie well enough to know when he needed to be left alone and this was one of those times.

Crutchie lay down on the bed, knowing that JT would be fine with sleeping on the floor until the weekend came and Claude could get the extra beds. He pulled the covers up to his chin, his eyes drooping instantly. Crutchie was asleep before he even had the chance to recount the events of the day, exhaustion sweeping him away from the grasp of consciousness.

* * *

Crutchie's eyes shot open and he wasn't sure what had woken him, a sound or the remnants of a nightmare. He lay, curled in a ball on the bed, his eyes raking across the dark room, trying to remember where he was. The room was dark and stank of fear and sweat. With a sudden clutching of his heart, Crutchie remembered where he was. The Refuge.

It had all been a dream: winning the strike, Katherine and Jack's fight, the train to Santa Fe, the Holloways. All figments of his imagination, woven into a cruel wish that only served to crush whatever hope had taken refuge in his heart.

He sat up, examining the room he had become far too familiar with. The dark, enclosing walls were exactly as he remembered them: foreboding, shadowy, and unrelenting. Huddled on the bed beside him was a boy about his age with red hair that was matted with sweat and dirt. The boy looked slightly like how JT had looked from his dream and Crutchie figured that this boy had been the inspiration for the Holloway boy's appearance in his dream. On the bed across from theirs was a boy whose face reminded Crutchie of Phillip Beaurocrav, only months of little to no food had left the aristocratic mien, which Phillip had been so haughtily proud of, gaunt and sickly.

Crutchie sighed, leaning back into the uncomfortable bed. Whether it had been a dream or not, the boys would still win the strike and then he'd be out of this dreaded hellhole. Steps pounding up the stairs toward the room tore Crutchie from his thoughts and he turned on his side, staring at the door in anticipation. It was flung open, the door slamming against the wall of the room and Jack was tossed into the room, his face bruised and bloody. But the worst, most frightening part, was that Jack's eyes seemed completely dead; those eyes that shone with hope and endless dreams were devoid of all emotion except defeat.

Snyder entered the room behind Jack, his sneer proud. He had won and Crutchie knew it. And Snyder knew that Crutchie knew it. "Well, boy, look what we found trying to sneak in. Planning a rescue, eh?" Snyder asked Jack. Jack merely looked away and he looked so damn broken that Crutchie felt his hopes shatter beyond repair.

"Jack, I'm sorry," Crutchie said, hoping that maybe his words would be some sort of balm for Jack. "I'm so sorry." The older boy shouldn't have had to even try to rescue Crutchie. If he hadn't been so slow or useless, Jack wouldn't have been outside the Refuge, Jack wouldn't have gotten caught. "I'm sorry," Crutchie repeated again, but the words rang hollow.

Jack didn't react and Snyder laughed. Behind him, a woman stepped forward. Crutchie recognized her to be Ms. Briarwood, his schoolteacher—but, wait, no. Not schoolteacher. Because that wasn't real. That was all just a dream—and in her thin hands was a switch. Snyder pulled Crutchie out of his bed and Ms. Briarwood—but not Ms. Briarwood, just a nameless worker at the Refuge—swung the switch against his bad leg. "Don't lie, Christopher. You know what we do to liars," she told him. The pain was awful, but it wasn't unbearable. Not yet, Crutchie realized darkly.

Crutchie tried to meet Jack's eyes, but the older boy still wouldn't look at him. "I'm not lying. I _am_ sorry. Jack, I'm sor—," Crutchie tried again, but his words were cut off as the switch landed extra hard on his right leg. He fell forward, catching himself on his hands and knees, his entire body shuddering with the pain. And still Jack wouldn't look at him, wouldn't say anything.

"Don't lie, Christopher," the not-Ms. Briarwood, hissed, swinging the switch against the side of his head. Crutchie felt as if his ear had been torn open by the motion.

"It's not Christopher. My name is Crutchie," Crutchie said weakly, gasping against the stinging pain that seemed to sweep up and down his body.

Snyder gripped Crutchie by his shoulders and began shaking the boy like a rag doll, slamming Crutchie's head into the wood flooring over and over again. "Crutchie," Snyder said, cruelly the name being disfigured with mocking, biting sarcasm. "Crutchie. Crutchie." Snyder repeated the name again and again with that same twisted tone until Crutchie began to hate his name and felt as if he would vomit if Snyder continued to speak. "Crutchie! Crutchie!" Snyder was yelling now and his sneer seemed to be growing until the point that it would take over his entire face.

Crutchie couldn't take it anymore, couldn't listen to the poison or bear the way that Jack just ignored him in his time of need, and he sat up, vomit spewing from his mouth, dirtying the clean sheets that were tangled around his legs.

"Oh, crap. Crutch, are you okay?" And this time it wasn't Snyder talking, but Jack. Crutchie would recognize his voice anywhere, but Crutchie refused to open his eyes and find himself still trapped in the nightmarish Refuge. "Crutchie, you gotta open your eyes. Are you okay?" Jack's voice sounded more worried and Crutchie could feel the familiar weight of his oldest friend's hand on his shoulder. Not Snyder's hand. Jack's.

With more effort than Crutchie would care to admit, he opened his eyes. He was in the Holloway house, JT's room, to be exact. It hadn't been a dream. He and Jack had come to Santa Fe and were living with the Holloways now. So… So, the whole Refuge thing had been a dream. Crutchie sighed in relief.

"You okay?" Jack asked and Crutchie realized he hadn't answered Jack yet.

"Just a bad dream," Crutchie said, cracking half a grin. His mouth tasted sour and then Crutchie recalled that he had just thrown up. He glanced down at the sheets, noting the brown mess that coated the white sheets. "I'll clean this up," he said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," JT said, helping Crutchie untangle the sheets and grabbing them into a pile, while being careful to avoid touching the vomit. "I've got it."

After JT had left with the dirtied bedding, Jack sat down next to Crutchie. "So, what was it about?"

"Does it matter?" Crutchie asked, shrugging. "It was just a bad dream. It happens to everyone."

"JT had to come wake me up. He said you were calling my name. He said you kept saying you were sorry."

Crutchie shrugged again. "It was about the Refuge, okay?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "The Refuge?"

"Well, it's not that surprising. Everyone gets nightmares after staying there."

"Yeah, but, you—" Jack cut himself off, gesturing at Crutchie. It was a vague gesture, but Crutchie understood what he was implying. Crutchie hadn't had nightmares about the Refuge for months now. His sleep had only been wracked with those awful memories for the first week and a half after his return, but he had gotten over it remarkably quickly. Bounced back in true Crutchie style. And he had been fine, had put everything behind him, but somehow it had all come back full force this night.

"I don't know, Jack. It just happened."

"Did something bring up those memories?"

Yeah. Ms. Briarwood with the switch. Phillip and the boys and their cruelty. The aching in his leg. What wasn't reminding him of the Refuge out here in Santa Fe? "Not that I can think of," Crutchie lied.

"You can talk to me if anything…"

"I know," Crutchie said, even though he couldn't help remembering how dream-Jack had turned away when he called for help, when he tried to right his wrong. Crutchie quickly banished that thought away, before it took hold and gnawed at his confidence. "I'm really okay, Jack. It was just a bad dream. You need to get some rest if you plan to be out there roping cattle or whatever tomorrow. Unless Syd has you still mending fences," Crutchie said with a smirk.

Jack still looked hesitant, as if he wanted to remain in the room and ensure that Crutchie really was okay, but Crutchie smiled, sarcastically shooing Jack out the door. "Okay. I'll see ya in the morning," Jack said, his voice soft with worry.

"See ya then."

JT returned to the room shortly after Jack left. "Where's Jack?" he asked, glancing at Crutchie with a small amount of trepidation.

"Went to bed," Crutchie explained. "And, JT?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, don't wake Jack. I'll be fine."

JT remained silent for a few long moments before acquiescing. "Okay, Crutchie. If that's what you want."

Crutchie turned away from the door, shutting his eyes. He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

 **So, what did y'all think about the dream/nightmare sequence? I'm not very experienced with writing those situations, so any advice and pointers are more than welcome. Reviews are always appreciated!**

 **Also, check out my new one-shot One for Vaudeville. It's an expansion on the story Crutchie tells Claude and JT, complete with iambic pentameter!**


	8. Chapter 8

**It's that time of the week again! So, I'm back here again and I really hope you don't think this is stretching on for too long. I know that some of these chapters aren't the most exciting things to be posted to fanfiction, but they really are all central to the plot and are stepping stones for all the major stuff that happens later. Trust me. We have got some mini climaxes coming and then the mother of all climaxes (at least for my stories.)**

 **ALSO. DID YOU SEE THAT THEY ARE FILMING NEWSIES WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST? (At least for main characters) BECAUSE, HOLY CRAP, I HAVE BEEN WANTING TO SEE ANDREW KEENAN BOLGER AS CRUTCHIE AND THIS COULD ACTUALLY BE MY CHANCE! I AM GOING TO DIE AND THEN COME BACK TO LIFE BECAUSE I REFUSE TO MISS THIS! Seriously, I told my roommate and we came to the conclusion that we're willing to spend an unholy amount of money to see this. Anyway...**

* * *

When Crutchie finally heard JT shifting as he woke up, Crutchie decided that it was a good enough time to get up. He had laid there all night, his eyes shut against the awful memories and nightmares that haunted his brain, waiting for even the barest amount of light to come and restore the night back to normalcy and safety. Crutchie's throat still burned from when he had thrown up earlier that morning and Crutchie was dying for a glass of water, something to wash away the sour aftertaste that itched at the back of his esophagus. Crutchie pulled himself out of the bed, grimacing as he put weight on his leg. It was _still_ aching. "Must've pulled something," Crutchie muttered.

"Are you okay?"

Crutchie shot a grin at JT. "Is that all you can say? I'm still fine and I'm probably gonna stay fine. Y'know, they say insanity is when you try the same thing and expect a different outcome. I'se startin' to think you're a little insane."

"I'm just trying to be a good brother," JT said.

Crutchie remained silent. He knew that JT considered them to be family now that Claude had officially taken in the boys, but it all seemed so fake. JT barely knew him and it took more than living in the same house to become brothers. You had to really _know_ them, to have trudged through the ugly aspects of life together. You had to have seen each other at the lowest and still love them unconditionally. _Jack_ was Crutchie's brother, not JT. Not that Crutchie didn't appreciate the sentiment, but he didn't need a brother; he already had one.

And one was more than most of the boys back in New York had.

"You already let me sleep in your bed," Crutchie pointed out. The response felt lame, insufficient in comparison to JT's previous comment. JT had just admitted that he saw Crutchie at his brother and Crutchie wanted to reciprocate the feeling, wanted to say exactly what JT expected to hear. But, he couldn't. Not when family meant so much. Not when Crutchie wasn't sure he'd ever find family beyond Jack.

JT nodded stiffly and Crutchie knew that he had hurt his feelings, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. "Yeah, well, you'd probably appreciate the bed more than I would. And this fort is pretty fun." JT grinned at Crutchie lopsidedly and Crutchie was beyond relieved that JT wouldn't hold Crutchie's refusal to call him "brother" against him. "Bet you're jealous."

"Bet you I'm not."

"Bet you're lying."

Crutchie rolled his eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

JT smirked. "Come on, Crutch."

They stopped by the table so that JT could wolf down a quick breakfast. Crutchie picked at a biscuit, not really having the appetite to eat much more than the golden-brown roll that flaked apart at his touch. The pair must have been running behind somewhat, because no one else was at the table, having already eaten. Crutchie was slightly pleased that he wouldn't have to talk with Jack about what had happened the night earlier. If it were up to him, he wouldn't ever bring up that awful nightmare again, but Crutchie figured that Jack wouldn't let something like that go so quickly. It wasn't as if Crutchie was ever plagued with bad dreams; the last nightmare he had had was months ago—and Jack knew that, having slept in the same room for nearly a lifetime, it seemed. So, this sudden advent of nightmares would bother Jack, nibble at his conscience until Jack sat Crutchie down for a talk that Crutchie really didn't want to have because, if pressed, Crutchie was afraid he'd betray how much he didn't like Santa Fe—the Holloways were fine, but everything else was slowly wearing down Crutchie's carefully carefree façade—and then Jack would want to leave or something and Crutchie wasn't willing to have Jack lose everything that made him happy just because Crutchie wasn't able to fit in.

"You about ready to get to school?" JT asked around a sausage that he had stuffed into his mouth only seconds before.

"Of course." Crutchie grinned, but the smile was only a façade. He didn't look forward to making the long walk to the schoolhouse. To begin with, his leg was still bothering him and he didn't relish limping all the way there and back. Not to mention that he dreaded running into Phillip again. Phillip had quickly become equated with the Delanceys in Crutchie's mind and he wanted to avoid him just as much as possible. But how could you avoid someone when you were stuck in the same small room together? And then there was Ms. Briarwood and how she seemed to go out of her way to publicly humiliate Crutchie and make the entire school day some hellish punishment. Crutchie sighed. It wasn't as if school would stretch on for eternity. Just a couple hours and then he'd be back home.

* * *

The couple hours Crutchie had promised himself were just as awful as he had imagined they would be. Phillip had mocked and teased Crutchie, but only when JT was out of earshot. Ms. Briarwood had reprimanded Crutchie for reading ahead in the primer he had been given. Crutchie had then made the mistake of pointing out that this proved that he could read. His leg still burned from the switch.

It had been more than a relief when JT and Crutchie finally made it back to the Holloway house. Sue had hugged the pair of them and then instructed them to wash up and then set the table for dinner. Crutchie and JT were helping Sue set the table when Jessie burst into the dining room, her red hair disheveled from riding and her face flushed from running. "Set out an extra plate," she said breathlessly. "Gabriel's stopping by for dinner."

Crutchie knew a little bit about Gabriel Valdez, all from JT's chatter to and from school. He was twenty-four and had recently immigrated to Santa Fe from Mexico. JT always described Gabriel as "smelly, rude, and ugly to boot," but Crutchie figured there had to be some discrepancy in JT's description and Gabriel's actual appearance. Jessie, as JT explained, was smitten with the older man and Crutchie hypothesized that JT just didn't want his older sister dating, which led to his coarse descriptions of the man.

Sue nodded, her mouth a firm line that barely showed the displeasure she was feeling. JT, however, was not nearly as discreet. "Gabriel?" he complained. "He always smells like horses and sweat."

Jessie glared at her younger brother. "Yeah, well, so does pa and Syd and I." And Jack, Crutchie wanted to add, but kept his mouth shut. "That doesn't seem to bother you."

"That's because you guys take the time to wash up. I don't think Gabriel has touched a bar of soap in his lifetime."

Jessie's eyes narrowed and she growled threateningly, "Don't embarrass me, JT."

"Or what?"

"You don't want to know," she hissed.

Crutchie glanced between the two siblings, wondering if JT was going to back down or if he would hold his ground. "Fine," JT said. "I still don't like him."

"I can tell."

"Good," JT shot back. After Jessie had turned her back on him, he stuck his tongue out at her retreating figure. JT turned to Crutchie. "You'll hate Gabriel."

"O…kay."

"Anyone with half a mind hates him," JT explained. "And usually Jessie's smarter than this, but, I don't know, she likes _something_ about him."

"It's gotta be the moustache," a voice said from behind JT and Crutchie.

JT laughed. "Yeah, Syd, you're probably right." JT nudged Crutchie in the side. "Wait 'til you see his moustache. It's the thinnest thing I've ever seen; I could probably grow a thicker one if I tried."

"Maybe if Jack, here, grew a moustache…" Syd suggested, quirking his eyebrow at Jack.

Jack quickly held up his hands. "No. No way. I prefer life. She would tear me apart in two seconds flat."

JT and Syd laughed and Crutchie smiled slightly. He was glad that Jack was fitting in with the Holloways. If Crutchie hadn't known better, he might have thought Jack was one of the Holloway boys, joking along with his brothers, teasing their sister. Being a family. Crutchie was used to being the odd one out—his leg had always inhibited his ability to fit in—but this hurt more than he was accustomed to. He felt wildly out of place, like a piece to an entirely different puzzle that, after being shoved into the puzzle, bending pieces in the process, completely ruins the beautiful picture. Crutchie didn't belong here, not in Santa Fe and definitely not with the Holloways.

"What d'ya think, Crutch? Should I grow a moustache?" Jack asked, holding his finger over his top lip.

Syd and JT were laughing and Jack was grinning, so Crutchie had no choice, but to laugh along. "Maybe if ya want to look forty," Crutchie pointed out.

JT snorted loudly, which caused him to laugh even harder. "What's wrong with forty?" Claude asked, stepping up to where the boys were. His hands were at his hips and he was barely managing to look stern and offended.

"Oh, nothing, sir. I just didn't think it would look good on Jack. He don't age nearly as well as you do," Crutchie said quickly.

"Hey," Jack complained, smacking Crutchie in the shoulder. "I age just fine."

Crutchie shrugged, grinning. "I'm just saying that you looked a mite better a couple years ago, that's all."

Jack's indignant cry of "That ain't true!" was drowned out by Syd and JT's laughter. Even Claude cracked a smile. "Come on, boys," Claude said, gesturing to the table. "It's about time to start dinner."

There was a sharp knock on the door, just as the boys were sitting down. "That must be Gabriel," Jessie said. She tried to keep her voice normal, but Crutchie could hear the undertone of excitement that brightened her words.

"I'll get the door," Claude said, gesturing for his daughter to sit down. She had risen from her seat at the knock and now she sank reluctantly back onto the bench. "And, Jack? Why don't you sit by Jessie? Gabriel can sit across from you," Claude told his daughter, his gaze stern and unyielding.

Jack took the seat beside Jessie, as Claude had instructed him to do. He shot Syd, JT, and Crutchie an exaggerated fearful look, causing JT to have to quickly disguise his burst of laughter with a coughing fit. Syd held himself together much more admirably, only pressing his lips together in a firm line. Crutchie merely grinned, not feeling up to the effort of concealing his smile. Jessie noticed and glared at Jack, before coldly ignoring him as he sat down beside her.

Syd sat down on Jack's right, next to his mother. JT took the other seat next to Sue and Crutchie was left sitting between JT and the empty space that Gabriel would soon be taking. Crutchie wondered if the other members of the Holloway family noticed how out of place he felt. Maybe he was just an excellent actor. With a wry grin, Crutchie decided that maybe this was why Medda had tried to get him into vaudeville. Crutchie noticed that Jack was watching him carefully from across the table and Crutchie realized that maybe one "member" of the Holloway family noticed.

But, Jack couldn't say anything about it now; Claude was returning with Gabriel in tow.

Gabriel wasn't anything like how JT had described him. Yes, he had a wispy black moustache that made him look like a boy who had just hit puberty and was proudly displaying the first of his facial hair. But, other than that, Gabriel could be described as fairly attractive. He had a firm jawline and soft brown eyes that flicked between Jack and Crutchie. Gabriel's eyes, Crutchie noticed, were intelligent and would, most likely, recall everything he had seen. Semi-unconsciously, Crutchie straightened his leg as much as he could, only stopping when that all too familiar fiery pain burned up and down it.

"Hello," Gabriel said, his voice strong and amiable. "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Holloway."

"Likewise, Gabriel," Sue said, standing and pulling the man into a hug. If Crutchie hadn't known how much the Holloways disliked Jessie's beau, he would never have guessed by Sue's warm welcome. If Sue could fake affection so believably, how did she really feel about him and Jack? The cold thought clutched his stomach and Crutchie lost his appetite almost instantly.

"You can sit by Crutchie," Claude suggested, motioning to the remaining seat open. "He and Jack recently just started living with us."

"Oh?" Gabriel asked, spreading a napkin across his legs.

JT jumped in. "Yeah, Jack's working on the ranch in Clark's place." Jessie glared at JT after that jab.

If Crutchie hadn't been watching Gabriel closely, he wouldn't have noticed the slight flinch that hardened Gabriel's face before it smoothed out into a soft smile. "That's great. I'm glad you were able to find someone. Where are you from, Jack?"

"Just got off the train from New York a couple days ago," Jack explained.

"You must have good luck to stumble upon the only ranch opening in just a couple days. And you without experience, too," Gabriel said. The words were spoken kindly and earnestly, but Crutchie sensed that there was something harder, more vicious hidden beneath the pleasing exterior.

Jack laughed. "Oh, it was Crutchie who stumbled upon this opportunity."

"Quite literally," Claude added with a grin. "If Jack hadn't pulled Crutchie out of the way quickly enough—" he shook his head. "Anyway, I'm sure you're hungry, Gabriel. Syd? I think it's your turn to say grace."

After Syd had prayed, something brief and to the point about food and family that Crutchie mostly didn't pay attention to, the dinner began. This was nothing like what Crutchie was used to. No one was reaching across the table for dishes or yelling at a sibling to pass the food. The table was nearly silent as the dishes were methodically passed between each seat, food piled upon plates. Once everyone was served, Claude started the conversation, for which Crutchie was grateful for; he wasn't relishing the idea of a completely silent meal.

"So, Gabriel, what have you been up to lately?"

Gabriel quickly swallowed the water he was drinking, before responding. "Just looking for a job. If I don't find anything good soon, I'm going to have to settle for working with the Coulters."

JT leaned over to Crutchie, explaining, "The Coulters breed horses. And they've been looking for someone to work in their stalls. You know, cleaning out manure and stuff."

While Crutchie wasn't sure if JT did this purposefully, but the whole table was privy to JT's explanation. Jessie glared at her younger brother, who ignored the look, eating some of the green beans on his plate. Claude spoke up, trying to cover up his son's direct rudeness. "Yes, well, a job is a job."

"That's true," Gabriel quickly agreed. "And although working with the Coulters won't be the most glamorous of jobs, it will be something to tide me over until I can find something more long-term."

"Gabriel wants to buy a ranch," Jessie pointed out proudly.

"It'll take a while," Gabriel pointed out, "but, I do hope to have my own stretch of land that I can maintain."

"Where are you gonna buy a ranch?" JT asked. "Everyone already owns the land out here." Sue kicked her son under the table for his impertinence and JT merely responded with, "What? It's a decent question."

Gabriel shrugged. "Maybe I'll have to leave this town. Head farther out west. But I'm not giving up until I get that ranch I want."

"That's admirable," Claude said.

After that, the meal dragged on awkwardly. Claude would start a conversation and it would last for a couple of minutes, before completely falling flat as JT and Syd avoided speaking with Gabriel. Crutchie tried to focus on the food on his plate—Sue had made something that was composed of potatoes and cheese, but Crutchie really had no idea what it was—because the food was good, but he couldn't bring himself to eat more than a couple of bites, his stomach rolling at the sight and smell. Jack was watching Crutchie and he knew that the older boy was going to talk to him and Crutchie just didn't want to deal with that because, as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he was getting sick. Which absolutely sucked because then he would be even more useless than normal.

Eventually, all the members of the family had finished the meal and Claude leaned back in his seat. During the meal, Crutchie had managed to stealthily sneak the remainders of his food back into the dish, meaning that it now looked as if he had eaten his fill, the plate empty. Jack, Crutchie suspected, had noticed him putting food back, but Jack had stopped glancing at Crutchie significantly. Which Crutchie was thankful for; Jack's constant attention was giving him a headache.

Gabriel picked up at the hints that Claude was mentally sending and stood up. "Well, thank you. Mr. and Mrs. Holloway. I really enjoyed dinner. I'll see you later," he said.

"Only if life hates us," JT muttered under his breath.

Gabriel pretended to not have heard the comment and nodded once at Jessie before taking his leave. As soon as the door had snicked shut behind Gabriel, Jessie immediately turned on JT, her eyes fiery with anger and irritation. "What was that, JT?" she hissed.

"What?" JT asked innocently.

Jessie looked as if she was about to leap over the table and strangle her younger brother, but Claude quickly spoke up. "Jessie, calm down."

"But, he—"

Claude continued, ignoring Jessie's interruption. "JT, your behavior was inexcusable. Now, you may not like Gabriel, but that does not give you the right to be so rude."

"Pa, I was just—"

"No," Claude said, holding his hand up. "No excuses." He glanced at Sue, before turning back to Jessie and JT. "I think it's about time you all went to bed." JT sulked out of the dining room, glaring at Jessie. She reciprocated the glare, glowering at him until he had left. After she, too, had left the room, Claude turned to Syd, Jack, and Crutchie. "You should probably head to bed also. I'll see you all in the morning."

Jack stopped Crutchie in the hallway, just as he knew he would. "You doing okay, Crutchie?" Jack asked, his hand on Crutchie's shoulder as he turned Crutchie halfway to make eye contact.

"I think you was right," Crutchie said softly. "I think I'm getting sick. Nothing major," Crutchie added, when he saw the way Jack's eyes widened. Crutchie figured the older boy was remembering the time he had caught pneumonia and nearly died. Which had only happened once, but Jack seemed to always jump to that memory than the other times Crutchie had gotten a simple cold or caught one of those 24-hour bugs. "I just have a headache," Crutchie explained. "And I'm not super hungry. No big deal. I'll be better in a couple days."

"You sure?"

"Certain."

Jack still didn't look reassured. "Well, if you start feeling worse, tell me."

Crutchie grinned. "I think I know the drill by now, Jack."

Jack smirked. "Just makin' sure, kid."

Rolling his eyes, Crutchie headed to the room that he shared with JT. As he eased himself into the bed—JT was still enjoying his fort and had relegated Crutchie to the actual bed—Crutchie allowed the smile to slip from his face. He'd be a lot happier if his head would just stop pounding…

* * *

 **Thank you all for your support and everything. Reviews are always helpful and welcome!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A good morning to you all! College finally started and my classes this semester will be fantastic. And, I'm not the type of person who is going to let this story randomly stop because I got busy with classes and clubs and such. I already have a good portion of it written and will continue to update. So, read on, my little ostriches!**

* * *

"It's Saturday!"

Crutchie groaned, rolling over onto his side, away from the door. If JT would just stop shouting—

"Crutch! Get up! I'm gonna teach you how to ride a horse today," JT said, shaking Crutchie's shoulder. "And, boy, for a newsie, you sure don't get up early."

"Just one more hour," Crutchie groaned, his hand pressed against his forehead. Maybe if he kept pressure on the front of his skull it would somehow manage to stop trying to implode.

"Nuh-uh." JT shook his head. "You're going to miss breakfast. Jack's already up. Come on," JT said, tugging at Crutchie's arm.

Crutchie took a deep breath, before sitting up. His vision swam, but he remained sitting up, fighting back the nausea that pushed bile up his throat. Swallowing heavily, Crutchie stood up. He had to blink away the darkness that blocked his vision for a few frightening seconds, but as it passed, he felt the vertigo dissipating. "Just because Jack is up doesn't mean I need to be," Crutchie grumbled.

"Okay, fine. Fair point. But, what about breakfast? Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really," Crutchie said, shaking his head. "I'm probably still full from dinner last night," Crutchie explained, the lie slipping from his tongue effortlessly. His stomach rolled uncomfortably at even the very thought of food and Crutchie doubted he'd be able to get anything down.

JT studied Crutchie silently and for a moment, Crutchie wasn't sure that JT would believe him, would doubt the grin that Crutchie held. "I'm glad you were able to eat last night," JT muttered. "Gabriel's stench sorta messed up my appetite."

Crutchie grinned. "Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure I saw you grabbing thirds."

"Okay, maybe I was able to eat last night, but it's just because that's one of the best dishes ma makes."

"What's it called?" Crutchie asked. "I've never had it before."

JT shrugged. "We call them Funeral Potatoes, but I'm sure it's got a better name than that. I've never even eaten them at a funeral. But, that's probably because I haven't been to a funeral. Have you?"

The question caught Crutchie completely off guard. "No," he said, but this lie was heavier, more unwieldy than the ones he usually stuck to. And it was breaking the rule of lies: it wasn't protecting or helping JT. It was just… just a lie.

But, he couldn't tell the truth. Not when memories were flashing behind his eyes of a time when he was too young to understand death, but not young enough to forget the pain. He recalled a casket and a body too still and white. He recalled a cold hand that gripped his, pulling him away from the only one who cared about him. He recalled grief that consumed him to the point he didn't want to get out of bed because the house just seemed so empty and lifeless. And then, when life had seemed unfair enough, the polio had struck and he was suddenly useless and just wished that the polio had taken him wholly and completely and not just taken his leg. He recalled how he had been kicked to the streets like yesterday's trash, unwanted and immediately forgotten about.

No, Crutchie could not tell a truth as harsh as that.

"I didn't think so," JT prattled on, oblivious to the way Crutchie had quieted or how the crippled boy was focused more on the wood flooring than JT. "I don't really want to go to one," JT continued, "but, I mean, I have to go to one some time. Just to say I've been."

"Yeah…" Crutchie whispered. He felt as if his chest was going to collapse in on itself. His breath kept catching and Crutchie was worried if he kept thinking, he would hyperventilate, or something equally embarrassing. "Just to say you've been…"

"Anyway, you may not want breakfast, but I do. Come on. Maybe if you smell whatever ma made, you'll be hungry too." JT paused. "Hey. Are you doing okay?"

Crutchie's eyes whipped up, making contact with JT. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

JT was squinting at Crutchie. At his chest, to be exact, Crutchie realized. "Your skin is looking weird."

"Weird how?" Crutchie asked, suddenly needing to scratch at his chest and lower neck.

"It's red."

"A sunburn, maybe?" Crutchie suggested.

"Maybe," JT said, but he didn't sound so sure.

Crutchie scratched his lower neck thoughtfully. "It doesn't hurt. It's probably just a sunburn." Crutchie pulled on a shirt, buttoning it up and covering the reddened skin. "See? Just like new."

JT stared at him skeptically. "Maybe ma should take a look at it."

"I don't want to worry her. Aren't you hungry? Let's go grab breakfast. Or, you grab breakfast. I'll have some orange juice or something."

With a nod, JT left the room, Crutchie following behind just as fast as he could go. The initial motion of moving left him gasping for breath against vertigo, but once it passed, Crutchie was fine again. He ground his teeth and made his way forward, refusing to let whatever stupid things his body was doing hold him back. His leg had never held him down for long and Crutchie wasn't about to let the headache that pounded relentlessly at his forehead have any power over him.

Jack wasn't in the dining room, much to Crutchie's surprise. He had been expecting the older boy to confront him immediately about his admission from the night before about the possibility that he was getting sick. But Jack wasn't there. Or Syd and Claude. Crutchie would have assumed that they were out on the ranch, except for the fact that Jessie was sitting at the table, stone-faced, buttering her roll.

"Hey, Jess! Where's pa and Syd and Jack?" JT asked, voicing Crutchie's thoughts.

Jessie glanced up at JT and Crutchie, her eyes quickly settling on the way that Crutchie was leaning on his crutch heavier than usual. "They took the wagon into town to get new bed frames and mattresses," she explained.

"Oh, cool," JT said, sitting down at the table and grabbing at the steaming pot of oatmeal.

Crutchie sat beside him, but only settled for pouring a small glass of milk; he was slightly disappointed that there was no fresh juice on the table. Jessie noticed Crutchie's lack of food and demanded, "Hey, aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm not that hungry," Crutchie said, shrugging. "Still full from last night."

"You should eat something. Don't waste food," Jessie told him.

"Leave him alone," JT said between bites. "If he isn't hungry, then he doesn't have to eat." With a grin, JT added, "It gives me an excellent excuse to eat more: I'll take care of Crutchie's share."

"When are they coming back?" Crutchie asked, before taking a sip of the milk. He could feel the cold liquid make its way down his throat before splashing into his stomach, its sudden impact causing his stomach to clench uncomfortably.

Jessie shrugged, adding jam to the roll. "Eventually, I suppose."

"Oh, that's helpful," JT muttered sarcastically.

The rest of the meal passed in a similar manner, with JT attempting a conversation and Jessie shutting him down, generally with a sarcastic barb. Crutchie would have talked with JT, but he was too focused on looking normal. JT was right about it not being a sunburn; Crutchie's skin felt like it was too tight and uncomfortable and he really just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep for another lifetime or so. However, as soon as Claude returned with Syd and Jack, Crutchie was ushered outdoors to ride a horse.

* * *

Crutchie followed Jack and JT out into the yard, where Claude stood with a dark brown horse, rein in hands. The horse had a black nose and black socks, Crutchie noticed, which he attributed to the naming of the creature. "Her name is Blackie," JT was explaining, "and she's super nice. And slow. Everyone learns on her."

"Yeah, she won't throw you or nothin'," Jack agreed. He, after spending the first two days on Blackie, had been allowed to use a different brown horse by the name of Chocolate. She was Sue's horse, but since Sue wasn't out on the ranch as often, Jack rode her the most. "Maybe once you learn to ride Blackie, you can share Chocolate with me and Sue."

"Or with me!" JT said excitedly. "Once I turn sixteen, I get a horse of my own and we can share him."

"That's not for a couple of months," Syd pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure Crutchie will be out riding on his own far before then."

"It doesn't mean I can't share when I have my own horse," JT muttered petulantly.

Jessie walked past her younger brother, nudging him with her shoulder. "Who's to say you even get a horse? Pa only gets horses for responsible kids."

"I'm responsible!" JT cried out, yanking his head away when Jessie ruffled his red hair.

"Whatever you say, kid."

Crutchie stared at the horse he would be riding shortly, swallowing nervously. Blackie stared right back at him, her tail flicking at the flies that buzzed around her. He felt as if his face was burning, his nerves wreaking havoc on his stomach and causing his entire skin to tingle strangely. "Maybe I shouldn't ride today," Crutchie said, the words nearly getting stuck in his extra dry mouth.

"It's not that bad," Jack reassured Crutchie. "You'll be just fine. You ready?"

 _That's not what I'm worried about!_ Crutchie wanted to scream, but he remained silent. He felt like crap and for some reason Jack didn't seem to remember that Crutchie had said he was getting sick and now no one would notice the way he felt as if vomit was slowly, steadily creeping up his esophagus and how he felt as if his entire body was too tight and too hot all at once.

Crutchie was suddenly aware of Jessie's eyes on him, but she didn't say anything. He didn't know if she could see the slight tremors that ran up and down his bad leg or the sweat that dotted his temples or the way his tongue was starting to feel too large and almost intrusive in his mouth.

"Ready," Crutchie agreed when he remembered that Jack had asked him a question.

Claude helped boost Crutchie onto the horse, after Crutchie gave his crutch to JT for safekeeping. Claude showed him how to hold the reins and how to position his knees. "I'm going to have her trot around the corral a bit, so you can get used to riding, then you can try it at a gallop."

Crutchie nodded, his head swimming. He was up so high. If he fell, he'd probably break his neck. Well, no. Probably not. Crutchie glanced down judging the distance, wondering if it were possible to break a leg from falling off a horse. Because wouldn't that just be his luck—messing up his one good leg out here in Santa Fe.

Claude clicked his tongue and Blackie started trotting in a circle, following the fence. "Look at you, Crutch! Like a real-life cowboy!" Jack shouted and Crutchie couldn't help but grin. It wasn't so bad. Sure, the horse was jostling him a bit more than he quite appreciated, but it was kind of fun riding a horse. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe no one would even notice his bad leg if he was astride a horse all the time.

"You ready to really ride a horse?" Syd called out.

Crutchie nodded because the exhilaration of riding had completely banished all the fear and pain that had encompassed him before. He could do this. He could really do this. And Crutchie knew that if he was able to ride a horse, then he could make his way out here in Santa Fe. Perhaps he had a place here just as much as Jack did. Crutchie realized with a smile that maybe he had found somewhere where he could belong.

Jack was atop Chocolate and he came over to where Crutchie was guiding Blackie in a circle around the corral. Claude was behind, seated on his horse, Storm. "Okay," Claude said, "I'm going to whistle Blackie to get her to run."

"Just hold on to the reins and move with the horse. It'll be weird when you start out, but as you get used to it, it becomes really fun," Jack advised. He paused, grinning, before asking, "You ready, Crutch?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready," Crutchie said, his words from months early coming back to him. _Feature me, riding in style_. Now he'd truly get to ride in style. Sure, Blackie wasn't a palomino, but he had to start somewhere.

Claude put his fingers to his lips and let forth an ear-piercing whistle and the horse broke into a gallop out of the corral and into the large field that surrounded the Holloway house. The horse jerked into movement, her legs pounding loudly against the hard-packed earth. Crutchie was nearly thrown from the horse with the initial movement, but he clung to the reins, his knuckles turning white from the effort. This movement was entirely different from the slow trot against the corral and Crutchie was bounced up and down, unable to maintain his seat. His leg was protesting the violent motion and felt as if flames were licking up and down the limb, burning red-hot. The headache that had been forgotten in the earlier elation came back full force, pounding Crutchie's head just as relentlessly as Blackie's hooves attacked the ground. The only thing Crutchie was conscious of was the pain and the fear of falling off Blackie; all other thoughts banished as the more visceral emotions took the forefront. He felt as if he were spinning—but no, that was his head—or that he were floating—but that didn't make any sense either because he could feel the horse beneath him, surging forward—and Crutchie's vision began to swim until he couldn't focus on anything but the horse's coarse hair in front of him. It bounced with the movement, some strands reaching as far as to tickle Crutchie's nose and wait, that didn't make any sense because he was sitting up and the hair wasn't long enough to reach that high up. But, no, somehow Crutchie had slid forward and his head was only inches above Blackie's—and wasn't Blackie such a strange name for a horse that was almost completely brown—neck. The scent of horse was exceptionally strong, now that Crutchie was mere inches from the beast and he felt as if he was going to gag, but hadn't he been feeling sick all day so was it really Blackie's fault? Crutchie thought he heard Jack shout his name, but that wasn't possible because all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and, strangely enough, he couldn't hear the horse's hooves against the ground or his panting breath as he struggled to keep upright. Blackie was still surging forward, her strong legs propelling them quickly forward, and Crutchie felt himself slipping to the left, but he couldn't manage to get his hands to hold the reins—when had they even slipped from his fingers—and he couldn't keep his balance, not when his head felt as if it was being hammered upon with a crowbar. His heart jerking, Crutchie realized that he was falling from the horse and then pain morphed into black and Crutchie knew no more.

* * *

Jack grinned as he watched Blackie gallop across the field with Crutchie on her back. He hoped Crutchie felt as free as he did with the air rushing through his hair. Jack quickly urged Chocolate on after his best friend, relishing the fact that they were in Santa Fe, that they were riding horses together like he had always dreamed it would be. Claude was a little ways behind him, but Jack didn't feel like slowing down to allow the older man to catch up.

As Jack watched Crutchie ride, he realized something wasn't right. Crutchie was being jostled around and wasn't moving with the horse like Jack had told him to. Instead, it looked as if the boy was barely maintaining his position in the saddle. Well, it would take a while for him to get used to the motion. Jack recalled that he had been uncomfortable when Blackie first galloped with him, but eventually he did get better and then he had been fine ever since.

But, Crutchie wasn't getting better. In fact, Jack noticed, the boy seemed to be slipping forward, his head nearly touching the back of Blackie's neck. This wasn't right. Something was definitely wrong. With a flick of the reins, Jack urged Chocolate into a faster gallop, hoping to catch up to his younger friend. "Crutchie!" he called out, but Crutchie didn't respond. Which only increased Jack's worry.

Jack was just gaining on Blackie when it happened. It seemed as if Crutchie was moving in slow motion, just tipping ever so slightly and then before Jack could shout his friend's name again, the boy had fallen to the ground, landing in a motionless heap. Blackie bounded forward a few steps, before coming to a stop and beginning to nibble at the grass nonchalantly. Crutchie still wasn't moving, face downward, so Jack couldn't even ascertain if the boy was breathing—as awful as that thought was.

When he was close enough, Jack leaped from Chocolate's back, bending down over his friend's prostrate form. "Crutchie! Hey, Crutch, answer me. You okay, Crutchie?" There was no response. Jack looked up from his friend, planning to call for help, but any cries died on his tongue as he realized his sudden leap to Crutchie had frightened Chocolate and the horse had reared back up onto its hind legs. With a start, Jack realized that Chocolate would crush either him or Crutchie and Jack quickly bent protectively over Crutchie's motionless form, praying that Chocolate would miss him or that he would, at worse, only break a bone. Jack knew that Chocolate's hoof could, quite easily, dash his brains out and he couldn't die, not when he had just got out here, not when he and Crutchie had finally found their place.

The blow never came. Jack glanced up curiously, realizing that somehow Claude had reached them in time and jerked Chocolate backward, away from the two boys. "You okay?" he asked. He had dismounted and held the reins of both Storm and Chocolate, but when Syd arrived—he must have started riding shortly after Jack and Claude had started out—handed the reins to his son.

"Crutchie," Jack muttered, turning back to his friend. He was fine; why didn't Claude see that Crutchie was the one who had fallen from the horse. It was Crutchie that might not be okay. Jack gently turned his friend over, immediately noting Crutchie's left wrist, which was bent backwards, clearly broken.

Claude gently put his hands on Jack's shoulders. "I need you to move so I can help him," Claude said softly, guiding Jack away from Crutchie. When Jack shook his head, Claude insisted, "He's going to be okay, but I need to help him and I can't do that if you're in the way." Jack backed away numbly, allowing Claude to bend over Crutchie. The boy, Claude discovered, was feverish, his face a bright red and his heart beat quickened. "Syd," Claude said firmly, "Go get Dr. Cavanaugh."

Syd nodded, before remounting Cunegonde and riding around the house to where the road would take him to the Cavanaugh homestead.

"Jack, I've got to take Crutchie to the house. Go grab Blackie and take her and Chocolate into the stables. Make sure you brush them down, okay? Crutchie will be fine, but I won't allow you to see him until both Blackie and Chocolate are in their stalls cleaned up."

Jack tore his gaze from Crutchie's motionless face—he looked dead, he looked dead, but he couldn't be dead, not dead, not if they were getting a doctor…right?—and nodded stiffly. "Okay," he said, relenting because he knew that arguing with Claude would be fruitless.

"He's going to be okay," Claude repeated as he mounted Storm, Crutchie in his arms. With that, Claude took off, one hand on the reins, the other cradled against Crutchie's chest to keep him from falling off again.

After watching Claude ride away with his best friend, Jack turned to Chocolate, gently grabbing her reins. Blackie walked up to him, nickering softly. Jack liked to think that she was apologizing for dropping Crutchie. Not that that changed anything. "Come on," Jack said, grabbing Blackie's reins and remounting Chocolate. "Let's get back before anyone else gets hurt."

He led both horses into the stables, planning on quickly brushing the animals down and then heading inside to find out what was going on with Crutchie. "What are you doing in here?" Jack asked quietly, noting that Jessie was at the far end of the stables.

Jessie glanced up at Jack before turning back to Storm. "I'll give you three guesses." She rolled her eyes, before continuing. "Pa was taking Crutchie inside, so I was put in charge of Storm." Jessie hesitated, before asking, "Is he… Do you think he'll be okay?"

"He better be."

* * *

 **Okay, I've got a story for ya'll. So, last week I watched the Newsies movie for the first time (I am so sorry I hadn't gotten to it before) with my family. I have a baby sister who is four, so while Jack is singing "The World Will Know" she understood the concept of answering his questions. So, Jack calls out, "Are we nothing?!" and my little sister shouts back, "YES!" To which, my entire family started laughing. So, for the rest of the song, we decided to show her what to do and we were all shouting the correct answers to the questions along with the newsies and gosh, it was just so much fun.**

 **Anyway, story time over. Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! Ostrich out!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Happy Wednesday, everyone! I hope the week is treating you fabulously. This is just about the half-way mark, so we've still got a couple major things left to happen in the upcoming chapters. Be prepared, my hyenas, be prepared. (Kidding, you guys are totally ostriches and not Nazi hyenas...)**

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Jessie waited until Jack had finished brushing down both mares, before following him into the house. Jack was torn between stifling under the constant attention—he just wanted to be with Crutchie and didn't need her around—and feeling thankful that he wouldn't have to go into the house and face the news of Crutchie's condition alone. She didn't say anything, having opted to remain silent after her initial question about his health and Jack appreciated that she didn't start with a litany of "he'll be fine" and "it's going to be okay"s. Because neither Jack nor Jessie, if they were being completely honest, knew if the boy would be okay.

JT stood near the door, his eyes bright and worried as he waited for Jack to come in. "How's Crutchie?" Jack asked the younger boy hoarsely.

"Syd's coming back with the doctor shortly. He'll be able to tell us for sure, but ma says he definitely broke his wrist and he has a fever. They, uh, don't know what he has though, but it's going to be okay because Dr. Cavanaugh is coming and he can fix it."

Jack wanted to shout at JT that he was wrong, that doctors couldn't fix everything. Doctors hadn't been able to save Crutchie from being stricken with polio all those years ago. Who was to say that they could save him now? And what if this was polio, resurfacing again? What if the vicious disease was rearing its awful, poisonous head and this time Crutchie wouldn't be so lucky? For, Jack knew that Crutchie had been lucky to only have been left a bum leg after the disease had ravished his childhood; polio, too often, left only the dead in its wake.

"—but, he's going to be fine. I just know it." JT was still talking, Jack realized. That boy could certainly chatter endlessly if he wanted to. "Crutchie's been through worse," JT finished, a strained grin on his face.

"Yeah, he's been through worse," Jack bit back, angry because he shouldn't have to go through this. Because _Crutchie_ shouldn't have to go through this. "And he almost died because of it. Is that what you want?" Jack challenged. "Crutchie dead?"

JT paled. "N-no, I don't—He's not going to… Right?" JT stumbled over his words, worry and fear lodging into his throat uncomfortably.

"You don't have to yell at him," Jessie pointed out coldly. "It's not like it's JT's fault that your friend couldn't stay on a horse."

"This ain't Crutchie's fault," Jack said, turning on the redheaded girl. He had just been thankful that Jessie was kind enough to ask about Crutchie and now she was turning on him. It irked Jack that Jessie seemed to see Crutchie as less of a person, most likely because of his crippled leg. "It ain't Crutchie's fault," he ground out again.

"I'm not saying it is," she shot back. "I'm just saying it's not JT's." As Jessie turned away from Jack, she muttered, "It's not like we expected more of the crip, anyhow."

Jack barely resisted punching Jessie in her smug face. "He. Ain't. A. Crip," Jack hissed, his voice low and lethal. The only things saving Jessie from a sound beating were her gender and the fact that Jack still depended on Claude for food and shelter.

"Guys—" JT said, trying to break up what could easily devolve into a fight.

Jessie whipped around after Jack's words. "Really?" she queried, her voice cold and sardonic. "Because I was thinking the leg proved otherwise."

"You gotta stop seeing him as his leg; he's more than that, you know," Jack answered, his voice strangled with barely-restrained anger.

"I suppose he's his crutch, too?"

Jack's eyes lit with righteous fury and, blast everything, he was going to beat that cruel sarcasm right out of her. Only JT suddenly intercepting him kept Jack from throwing the first punch. "Don't you dare talk about him like that," Jack threatened, his voice nearly shaking with anger. He _hated_ it when people only saw Crutchie as a cripple and he had promised the boy that it would be different in Santa Fe, that he could overcome all that prejudice out in the West. And, yet, here in their new home, Jessie was overflowing with blind prejudice.

Jessie wasn't an idiot and she recognized that her younger brother's warning hand on Jack's arm was the only thing keeping her from being pounded. Not that JT could hold him off if Jack really wanted to do damage; Jack was older and outweighed JT by a fair amount. "Whatever," she muttered, refusing to let Jack have the final say. She stalked off to her room, unwilling to admit that the ferocity with which Jack had glared at her had shaken her a little bit. "He's still just a crip," she whispered, once she was out of Jack's earshot.

"She just doesn't know Crutchie yet," JT reassured Jack, his hand still on the older boy's arm. "But once she gets to know him, she'll understand."

Jack jerked his arm from JT's grasp, shaking his head. "I promised Crutch he wouldn't have to deal with people like that here, that Santa Fe would be better than New York, but so far, it ain't. He's still bein' judged and he shouldn't have to be."

"It's just Jessie and she's stubborn. Ma, Pa, Syd, and I all know what Crutchie's like. I think she's still bitter about Gabriel losing his job to you."

"That doesn't mean she can just say things like that."

"I know," JT agreed, "but, it does at least partially explain her perspective. She's been worried that Pa will never accept Gabriel into this family—and rightly so because I don't think Pa trusts him—and so when Pa hired you on instead of Gabriel, I think she finally realized that Gabriel will never have a place here. So, now she's just bringing out all her heart-broken anger on you and Crutchie."

"You know, for a kid, you're pretty wise," Jack said, laughing bitterly.

JT grinned. "So I've been told."

"Now, don't get too cocky, or else—"

Jack was cut off as the front door was swung open and Syd quickly led a middle-aged, bespectacled man into the house. He was balding, the brown hair retreating from his high forehead. Dr. Cavanaugh, Jack correctly assumed. Syd glanced sympathetically at Jack, before showing Dr. Cavanaugh down the hallway to the JT and Crutchie's shared room. Jack immediately started after the doctor, needing to hear his diagnosis, needing to hear that Crutchie was going to be okay. Just as he reached the room, however, Syd came out and gently grabbed Jack's arm, pulling him away. "Not yet, Jack. Let Dr. Cavanaugh take a look at him. Then you can sit with Crutchie."

"I really should be with him," Jack said. Last time Crutchie had gotten sick, the newsies had all taken turns sitting by him, so that when he woke up, he had one of his brothers there with him. (Or, though no one wanted to admit it, if Crutchie passed on, he wouldn't be alone, having a brother by his side.) Now, Race and Romeo and Specs weren't around; Crutchie only had Jack to sit by his side while he struggled to heal. "I need to be there with him."

"Just wait a little longer. He's going to be okay," Syd reassured.

But, could no one hear how hollow those words were when Jack couldn't confirm their truth? "I just—" he began, but was cut off as Claude entered the room, followed by Dr. Cavanaugh. They had only been in there for a few minutes. Was that a good sign? Jack's stomach plummeted at the thought that there was no need for a doctor because the young cripple had already passed beyond the need of help, that the boy had died. Dr. Cavanaugh murmured something in Claude's ear, before taking his leave.

Claude's face was clearly wearied as he turned to his sons and Jack. "Dr. Cavanaugh diagnosed Crutchie with Scarlet Fever. He should be back on his feet in a few short days, after the fever has run its course. But, until that time, only Sue or I and Syd, if he cares to, will be sitting with Crutchie. Jack, you and JT are too susceptible to the fever for us to risk you entering that room. For the time being, JT, you can sleep on the floor of the living room."

"I—No," Jack said, shaking his head, "I need to be with him. Crutchie needs me to be there with him."

"He's going to be okay, but we can't have you in that same room. You could get just as sick," Claude cautioned. "Sue's with him right now."

Jack wanted to continue the argument, but he recognized that Claude was not going to back down with this. Maybe by tomorrow, Claude would have softened and Jack would be allowed to see his friend. "His wrist, though?" Jack asked, recalling the grotesque way the joint had been shattered backwards.

"I set it and the doctor made sure all the bones were correctly in place. He's going to be fine, Jack. There is no cause to worry."

"Do you think that I could see him tomorrow?"

"Maybe," Claude said, but it sounded more like a "no" to Jack.

Not that Jack ever took "no" for an answer.

* * *

Subterfuge was never one of Jack's strong suits. Sure, he had managed to sneak out of the Refuge that one time, but, honestly, that was more luck than actual skill. Not that he'd tell the other boys that, of course. So, the idea of sneaking down the hall to Crutchie's room seemed much more daunting to Jack than it probably should have been.

Getting up nearly an hour before dawn, Jack quietly pulled on a shirt and started making his way down the hallway. His bare feet snicked on the floor, each soft smack as loud as a gunshot to Jack's hyper-active ears. With each step, Jack's destination drew closer and his confidence soared. He was almost there. Just a few more doors...

"What are you doing?" Jack felt his heart jump up into the back of his throat and he instantly froze. For a brief moment, Jack was back in the Refuge and Snyder had just caught him escaping. "What are you doing, Jack?" The question was repeated and Jack realized that he recognized this voice and let out the breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. It wasn't Snyder. Just Jessie. Not that she was much better than the Spider.

"Nothing," Jack said, turning to face her. Jessie, Jack quickly realized, was wearing a dress. It was a light blue color with soft white lace accenting the sleeves and the hem of the dress. Jack had grown accustomed to seeing Jessie in pants and was thrown by the way the fabric was cinched tightly around her small waist and the soft contrast of her hair and the sky blue of the dress. "You're wearing a dress," Jack said dumbly. "I've never seen you in a dress."

"Fantastic observation," Jessie muttered sarcastically. "And you're supposed to be wearing a suit soon."

"Why?" Jack asked.

Jessie rolled her eyes. "We are all going to church. I'm pretty sure Pa is going to drag you along, too."

"But, I need—" Jack cut himself off, gesturing in Crutchie's room's direction.

Before Jessie could respond with what Jack assumed would be a sarcastic barb, Claude turned around the corner of the hallway, catching sight of Jack and Jessie. "Good, you're awake. Syd has an extra suit that you can wear," he told Jack, before adding. "Sue is going to stay here with Crutchie."

"I really don't need to go with you. I can stay here with Crutchie, if you need me to," Jack offered. "I wouldn't want Sue to miss, uh, church."

"It's okay. We don't want you getting sick."

Jack shrugged awkwardly. "I don't, uh, really need to go to church with you. I don't think I'd belong there."

"Nonsense," Claude reassured him. "You are welcome there."

"No, I mean that I, uh, church ain't ever really been a place for me to go to," Jack tried to explain. Sure, the nuns would come around every morning to pass out whatever meager breakfast they had for the newsies, but Jack had refused to ever go to the church they worshipped at. It wasn't that he had anything against religion or those that chose to believe in a Higher Being, it just wasn't for Jack. "It's not really my place."

"Come today and then if you still feel that way, you'll be free to stay home every week," Claude suggested.

With a short sigh—because he really did owe this man a lot and couldn't just outright oppose a fair deal such as what Claude was offering him—Jack nodded. "Okay. I'll go change." He could visit Crutchie after whatever church service he was being dragged along to; Crutchie would be fine until then. He had to be.

* * *

Jack tried to avoid yawning for the umpteenth time. His chin was pillowed on his fists, but that only made him want to close his eyes and go to sleep more. Jack sat up, attempting to inconspicuously stretch, but the movement caught Jessie's eye. She shot him a pointed look, before sitting forward, all prim and proper. Jack was nearly one hundred percent sure that she was only acting like that to make him feel even more ostracized and out of place. Her dress rustled with the movement, the sound loud and grating in the silence as a preacher stood up at the pulpit, flipping through a dog-eared copy of the Bible.

To Jack's left, JT's eyes were drooping shut, before shooting open quickly. When JT noticed that Jack was watching him, he mouthed something that Jack couldn't make out. Realizing that Jack didn't understand him, JT leaned over and whispered, "Not too much longer. I hope," he added with a lopsided grin.

Jack wanted to grin back, but the worry about Crutchie being left all alone—well, not really _alone_ because Sue was there—without him pressed heavily on his mind. He opened his mouth to say… something. Jack wasn't really sure what he was planning on voicing, but at that moment the preacher began to talk. "Faith," the older man began, prompting Jack to roll his eyes. He was not looking forward to an hour long sermon on 'believe this and everything will be perfect and if it's not you just aren't trying hard enough.'

The preacher had thinning brown hair that had receded far enough that, from a certain angle, the man looked completely bald. He wasn't and he held to that fact—and his remaining hair—with as strong a conviction as his conviction to religion. The preacher's face was marred with a nose that would have been big on a much larger man, but the preacher was unfortunate enough to have never hit his growth spurt and the nose seemed monstrously huge on his small, pudgy face. All in all, Jack was not sure that an uglier man could exist. His voice, however, was smooth and comforting; the voice of a salesman who can convince even the most stubborn of customers that the product must be bought.

"Faith is an interesting term," the preacher began again, his voice low and honeyed. "Is it a noun or a verb? Don't worry, though. I don't plan on this being a grammar lesson." He laughed, his chuckles warm and inviting. The majority of the congregation laughed along with him and Jack felt as if he were witnessing a puppeteer playing with a room full of easily-controlled puppets. "I would just like to point out that while faith is often associated as a noun, an attribute of good people, it is probably more beneficial to view faith as a verb, a process that requires never-ceasing action on our part."

The preacher paused to take a breath and the congregation remained perfectly silent in the short space of time it took him to begin speaking again. "One of the best examples of faith found in the Bible is located in the book of St. Luke. As Jesus Christ is traveling, preaching to the people, a group of people come to him in behalf of a Roman centurion. Although, often during this time period, the Romans and the Jews were at odds with each other, this centurion had been kind to everyone and had even helped pay for the building of a synagogue for the Jews to worship in. So, when this centurion's dear servant was at death's door, he sent for Christ to come and heal the servant. When Christ came near, however, a messenger was sent to tell him that the centurion felt as if he was not worthy of Christ coming into his house and requested that He 'but say in a word' and believed that that would be all it would take for his servant to be healed.

"Miraculously, the servant was healed without Christ having to come near him at all, due to the centurion's great faith. In fact, Christ commented, 'I have not found so great faith… in Israel.'" The preacher paused in his sermon, taking the time to scan the congregation. Jack felt uncomfortable as the man's beady brown eyes gazed at him for a brief time, before continuing on through the crowd. "And isn't that a miracle in and of itself. That a man not even of the religion would have the greatest faith of all."

The preacher continued his sermon, but Jack found himself ignoring the man. He had found the story that the preacher had related to be interesting, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Crutchie. This wasn't like the time he had gotten pneumonia, Jack had to keep reminding himself. It wasn't. Crutchie had scarlet fever and Claude had said he'd be better in a couple of days. Jack could wait a couple of days and then everything would be back to normal.

Upon arriving home, Jack tried once more to visit Crutchie, but Sue would not grant him access to the sick room, much to Jack's irritation and displeasure. He was almost willing to pretend that he had been struck with the same illness, just to be able to spend time with Crutchie. Jack figured, however, that Sue would be able to tell he was faking. Or Dr. Cavanaugh. So, faking was out of the question.

JT informed Jack that his older brother, Clark and his wife, would be coming over for dinner, like they did every Sunday night, but Claude interrupted his son. "Not tonight, JT. Maybe next week."

Jack was thankful for that. He didn't feel up to socializing with anyone and finally just crawled into bed, ignoring Syd's suggestions to eat something. It was fine. Just a couple of days. Jack would repeat that until Crutchie was better, because it wouldn't be long. No, it would be like the blink of an eye. Jack would wake up one morning and Crutchie would be laughing and joking with JT and he'd tease Crutchie about always getting sick and maybe say something about his leg getting a little rusty, but everything would be okay because Crutchie would be okay.

Just a few days longer…

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 **I totally recognize that this is not the most exciting of all chapters. That's what next week is for. :) So, as always, reviews are the best ever! Feel free to leave questions and comments. I try to respond to everyone individually. Seize the day, my ostriches!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello, everyone! It is that time of the week again. And HOLY CRAP this has officially become the longest story I've published. A giant thank you to all of my reviewers, but a special thank you to thepopcornpup and Anjion who have been super supportive since day one! And this time I have some news: I will be starting a new story and publishing that one on Friday. I will continue to update this on Wednesdays, but the other one will be updated Friday mornings. So, keep your eyes peeled for that guy. It'll be fun.**

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A few days quickly turned into an entire week, much to Jack's growing agitation and fear. While Sue continued to reassure Jack that this was part of the healing process and that Crutchie was expected to get worse before he got better, Jack could see the worry that she tried to hide shine through her eyes. And that scared him more than he cared to admit. Even JT seemed to be picking up on the worry thrumming through his mother's actions and had taken to gnawing at his nails, the subconscious habit some sort of comfort that JT could provide for himself in a time when comfort seemed hollow and insignificant.

Crutchie remained laying in the bed, cold compresses draped over his forehead. Sue would sit with him, holding his hand, especially when the nightmares haunted the young boy. Those days were the worst. Jack would stand outside the room, listening to Crutchie call for him, his voice hoarse from sore throat and lack of use, but Jack could still pick up on the pain and urgency, as if Crutchie were perfectly healthy. All the boy could get out were repetitions of "Jack" and "help" and Jack had no idea what horrific nightmares Crutchie was trapped in, but he needed to be by his friend's side. The first time it happened, Syd had been forced to physically drag Jack away from his friend, promising that Sue would be with him and that everything would get better.

It didn't get better.

As Friday turned to night, the darkness settling like a foreboding shadow, Sue pulled her husband aside. Jack stayed seated where he was across the room, trying to get through _Candide_ because Syd still wouldn't shut up about it, straining his ears to hear her hushed words. "We need to send for Tim again, Claude. Crutchie isn't getting better and if his fever doesn't let up…" Sue's words softened even more and Jack could not make out what she was telling Claude, but he knew that it wasn't good.

Claude nodded grimly, glancing at Jack. He held the gaze, when their eyes made contact, not looking away to pretend he hadn't been looking like most did, and Jack was the first one to break eye contact. There had been questions in Claude's eyes, questions Jack didn't want to answer. _What would you do if the unthinkable happened? Would you stay here and work if Crutchie died?_ Jack hated that those questions even needed to cross his or Claude's mind. Turning back to Sue, Claude responded wearily. "I will go get the doctor now." With one final searching glance at Jack, Claude pulled a jacket on and left to go saddle Storm.

JT sat beside Jack, glancing at his father's back as he left. "Where is pa going?" he asked nervously. "Is—is this about Crutchie?"

"He's getting the doctor," Jack said numbly, his voice devoid of emotion. The look in Claude's eyes was imprinted in his mind and he felt as if the older man was still staring at him, searching for answers that Jack couldn't give because if he dared stop for a second and consider, that would be admitting defeat and Crutchie would be as good as dead. Jack blinked, trying to shake away the almost-sympathetic look that would. Not. Leave.

"Oh," JT said, his voice small and strangled, as if he were fighting back tears. "I didn't think Crutchie would've—"

"Crutchie ain't dead," Jack muttered angrily, barely keeping from shouting, his eyes fixed on the floor. His temper had been wearing thin lately, what with the stress of Crutchie's lingering fever and the way that Jessie kept glancing at him with an unreadable look and JT's soft words were the straw that broke his back. "He ain't dead," Jack repeated, "and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop talking 'bout him as if he was."

JT shook his head vehemently. "I wasn't saying he was dead. He's not. I don't want Crutchie to die." The final word came out as more of a sob than an actual word and Jack finally glanced at the younger boy. While Jack had thought JT was close to tears, he hadn't expected the fifteen year old to actually be crying, but the tears that JT hastily rubbed away and the red cheeks were proof to JT's honest grief. "He can't. He just can't," JT said, his voice cracking. He took a shuddering breath, finally looking up at Jack.

Jack was surprised at the clear and heavy grief that clouded JT's gray eyes with tears. The boy had only known them for nearly two weeks and yet his fear and sorrow seemed just as strong and heart-breaking as Jack's. JT must have noticed Jack's confusion, because he added sadly, "You know, he's my brother, too. I mean, I haven't known him nearly as long as you have and I know that Crutchie can't see me as family, but that doesn't stop me from seeing him as my brother. He is. Almost just as much as Syd and Clark. And I don't want Crutchie to die any more than I want any of my other siblings to die. It's—It's just not fair." JT's voice broke pitifully as he continued. "Before Crutchie got sick, I was joking that I needed to go to a funeral. For the experience, or something stupid like that. But, I don't want to. I can't. Not if it's—if it's his."

"JT," Jack said softly, pulling the younger boy into a one-armed hug. "Thank you for—for being a brother to Crutchie. Sometimes, I—just, thank you." Jack stumbled, unable to find the words for the thoughts of gratitude he wanted to express. Because JT deserved more than a couple "thank you"s. Jack had been worried that Crutchie would have trouble fitting out in the West, but JT was there to make sure that Crutchie never felt alone and Jack needed to find a way to show how grateful he was that there was someone else out there that wasn't limited in their judgement of Crutchie to his leg and crutch.

"Don't worry about it. He does the same for me, though I doubt he realizes it."

"Yeah, Crutchie is funny that way. Sees the value in everyone but himself unless you hit him over the head with it."

JT laughed, the sound wet with unshed tears. "Well, once he wakes up we'll make sure to hit him over the head. Gently, of course."

"Of course," Jack agreed, laughing. The sound was so unfamiliar, having found the simple action of laughter difficult ever since Crutchie had fallen ill. "You're not allowed to beat on sick people."

"It just isn't right," JT replied, enjoying the meaningless banter.

Just as the boys were lightening the mood, banishing the heaviness of the situation Crutchie was in, Claude reentered the house, Dr. Cavanaugh in tow. No entrance had so effectively killed a mood in the seventeen long years of Jack's life and it seemed as if all the false joy had been swept away as the doctor glanced in Jack and JT's direction. Claude, too, looked at the boys, his face carefully devoid of all emotion. The two men quickly walked down the hallway to where Sue retained her vigil by Crutchie's side, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

Jack wanted to make a joke, say something to lighten the mood again, but his tongue was thick and swollen with fear and dread. JT remained silent and Jack figured that he, also, was too worried to try and make small talk. Instead, the boys sat quietly, frozen, waiting, until after Jack had no idea how long, the doctor emerged, Claude and Sue trailing after him. Dr. Cavanaugh looked at the pair for a long moment, before donning his hat and taking his leave. It wasn't good news, he had brought, that much Jack knew. Claude glanced at them, before following Dr. Cavanaugh outside.

After her husband had left, Sue sat down next to her son, taking his hand in hers. She looked up at Jack sympathetically and he found himself shaking his head because he couldn't be dead. Crutchie just couldn't die. Not after all the years they had been together, inseparable almost. Crutchie couldn't just up and leave him like this; it wasn't fair. "JT, Jack," Sue began softly, "Dr. Cavanaugh came to take a look at Crutchie and it appears that his scarlet fever is not healing in the way that it should. It could get worse."

"Do you think, maybe, it might turn into pneumonia?" Jack asked, his deepest fears making themselves known, bursting out of him, dark and feathered with anticipation.

Sue sighed. "It is a possibility. There is a chance the scarlet fever could develop into pneumonia."

At that, Jack felt as if his entire world shattered. Pneumonia. That was what had nearly killed Crutchie all those years before. It was exactly what Jack had been fearing would happen. And now Crutchie had somehow managed to have his fever develop and contract the awful sickness and who knew if he would recover from it this time? Based on the look of defeat and grief on Sue's face, the odds were not in Crutchie's favor.

"Dr. Cavanaugh says that if Crutchie's fever does not break in the next twenty-four hours and he truly comes down with pneumonia, he—" Sue broke off, shaking her head sadly. "You need to prepare yourself for if Crutchie doesn't get better."

"No," JT said firmly. "No. You're wrong. Dr. Cavanaugh is wrong. You're all wrong. Crutchie can't die. He's fifteen. You don't die that young. You just don't."

"JT," Sue said weakly, pulling her son into a hug.

But, JT pushed himself out of the embrace. "No, ma," he said, but his voice was weaker, more defeated. "No, Crutchie _can't_. I won't let him."

Jack turned away as he caught sight of the tears in JT's eyes, focusing on the floor under his feet which seemed to swim and shift as he blinked back weakness. They were all giving up. They were all just writing Crutchie off as dead. And that wasn't right. Crutchie was still alive, just sick. He could still get better; he did last time. But, Jack knew that those hopes seemed just as hollow in his mind as in Sue's and JT's.

"I just—" JT started, before shaking his head and walking away, his thin shoulders shaking with poorly hidden sobs.

Sue reached over and squeezed Jack's shoulder comfortingly, but Jack shoved her hand away. She didn't understand what he was going though; none of the Holloways did. When Sue glanced at him questioningly, Jack only muttered, "I just need some space."

"Of course. If you need anything, Jack, we're all here for you."

Jack brushed Sue's words away, making his way out into the backyard. It was completely dark now, the moon obscured behind large, rolling clouds. Jack leaned against the wooden fence, staring out at the dark expanse that was the ranch. He had wanted to come out to Santa Fe so badly, had hoped that it would provide the happiness and peace he had been searching for so fruitlessly in New York. And now Crutchie was _dying_. Jack leaned his head down into his folded arms against the wooden fence, allowing the defeat to sweep through his body, not even bothering to find the optimistic side to this: that was Crutchie's job and without him maybe there just wasn't anything to be optimistic about.

"I heard about what Dr. Cavanaugh said." Jack startled at the words, jerking his head up to turn to Jessie. Her face was shrouded in the darkness, so Jack wasn't able to read her emotions. "What are you going to do?"

With a sigh, Jack turned back to the land and away from Jessie. He didn't want to talk to her, but she didn't seem to take the hint. Or, she did, but was too curious to let it go. "I'm sure you're pleased to know that I'll be leaving if—" Jack stopped, not willing to voice his fears. After clearing his voice around the lump in his throat, Jack continued, "Maybe Gabriel will get to work on the ranch in my place."

"Maybe," Jessie said softly. Jack could hear the hope in her voice, but also a tinge of sorrow? Regret? Jack couldn't tell and he was too exhausted to try to figure it out. "Everyone will miss you."

"You won't."

Jessie laughed quietly. "No, I probably won't. He's not dead yet, though. He might pull through." Jessie remained silent for a brief moment, before continuing, "That kid sure managed to capture the hearts of all my family members. Pa hasn't really smiled since he got sick and Syd is quieter, sterner. Ma has been working herself to the point of exhaustion, spending all her spare time with him. And JT is distraught. Coming out here, I passed through the living room, where he's been sleeping and he was in there just praying that the kid wouldn't die. He's not religious, JT isn't, but those prayers would make even the most zealous of preachers pale in comparison. If there is a God, He better pay attention to JT because he's trying his hardest." Jessie smiled grimly. "If that kid dies, it's going to affect a lot more than just you." Jack didn't speak, even though he knew Jessie expected him to say something. Once Jessie recognized that Jack wasn't going to respond, she added lightly, "Well, hope isn't completely lost until he's actually gone. Until then, there's always a chance."

Jack watched her walk away, turning back to survey the land. As he stared out at the dark expanse, the words that the preacher had said nearly a week ago came back to him. Jack shook away the story, for that's all the Bible was: a collection of nice, hopeful stories. But… No, he wasn't a Roman centurion and he wasn't in any way faithful. If there was a God, then why in the world would Crutchie have even been given polio in the first place? Crutchie didn't deserve a punishment as harsh as that; he was the happiest, kindest kid Jack had ever met, so why was he being taken? Despite his misgivings, Jack decided to try, just on the off chance that some Higher Being would take pity on his and Crutchie's situation. "Look," Jack began, wondering if this counted as a prayer or if he just looked stupid talking to himself in the dark. "I just want Crutchie to be okay. That's all I ask. I don't care about this job, or Santa Fe, even. I just need Crutchie. Uh, so, amen, I guess." Everything was silent and, frankly, anti-climactic, so Jack just returned to observing the land.

The moon was creeping out from behind the clouds and Jack could make out the landscape now. He studied the shadows that stretched across the darkened grass, watching the way the wind shook the tree branches, letting the shadows dance softly through the trembling grass. Jack looked up at the moon, remembering all the nights he had spent in his "penthouse" back in New York, Crutchie by his side. They had exchanged dreams, bathed in soft moonlight, where a breeze would sometimes blow by, cooling the hot weather back into a bearable state. Back then, it had just been the two of them against the world. All they had was each other. And Jack had no idea what it would be like if all he had was just himself. He blinked up at the soft light, the memories sharp and painful, before returning to the house.

Inside, Jack found himself stopping in front of JT's room, where Crutchie lay fighting for his life. Jack gently pushed the door open, glancing inside. Crutchie was on the bed, his face turned toward the door. Jack could see the sweat dotting the boy's face, the redness of his cheeks contrasted greatly against the fearful pallor of the surrounding skin. "Oh, Crutch," Jack said softly, about to make his way to his brother's side, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Jack, you can't," Sue said softly.

"Please, just let me sit with him. Just for tonight." Jack hated begging, would rather find a way to sweet-talk someone into giving him whatever he needed, but if begging was what it would take to allow him one night at Crutchie's side, then he would beg. "Please, Sue."

Sue led him away from the door, shutting it gently. "Jack, I can't let you in there."

"Because I might catch scarlet fever?" Jack challenged. "I don't care. I don't care, Sue; I need to be in there with him."

"You may not care, but we do. Jack, I don't know how it happened or even when—you've only been here for so short a while—but, you and Crutchie somehow managed to become like sons to Claude and I. It's hard enough to have Crutchie this dangerously sick, but we couldn't bear to lose you as well. Please, Jack, stay away."

Jack's breath caught at the admission. He and Crutchie had gone so long without family beyond themselves that it seemed strange to have someone confess that she saw the pair as her own sons. "I—I'm sorry, but I have to be with him. If Crutchie… and I was never by his side, never there for him, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

Sue stared at him sadly, before nodding. "I cannot argue with that. Let me go check on him and then you can stay by his side." After gesturing that Jack stay put, Sue entered the room. Jack stood there, rubbing his arms, suddenly feeling chilled. He hadn't entirely expected to win that argument, but was pleased nonetheless. Just then, Sue shouted from within the room, "Claude!" Jack froze, his blood chilling at the implication of the shout. "Claude! It's Crutchie!"

"He's dead. Oh, god, he's dead," Jack whispered, his head spinning. His mind jerked back to, only moments before, when he had glanced in at his friend and noticed the pale tinge to his skin. Maybe it hadn't been the scarlet fever—or pneumonia? Had that struck and murdered so quickly?—but death's cruel clutch that had left the skin that chalky white color. "Oh, god," Jack repeated, feeling bile rise up, sour and burning. He backed up until he hit the wall, before sliding down to a half crouch. Crutchie was dead; his best friend, his _brother_ , gone forever. With only a second of warning, Jack vomited, his stomach clenching as it shoved what little Jack had eaten onto the floor. The bile splattered against the floor with a loud slap and Jack barely had time to take a shuddering breath before the second wave of vomit forced its way up. His brother had died and Jack had never gotten the chance to tell Crutchie just how much he meant to him, just how important he was in Jack's life.

Jack heard Claude dash past him into the room where Sue was still shouting, but he was a little preoccupied at the moment. Once everything in Jack's stomach had made its violent way to the surface, Jack had been left to dry heave, breathing harshly against the retching noises he couldn't hold in. The dry heaves began to subside into sobs and, normally, Jack would fight back the tears, keep a strong front up, but he was beyond caring at this moment. Memories flickered through Jack's mind: when he first met Crutchie, the vaudeville incident, Crutchie in the Refuge, coming to Santa Fe, Claude's face when he left to get the doctor because the older man had foreseen exactly what was going to happen, JT's tears, Crutchie: pale and motionless on the bed.

The streets of New York may have sucked the life out of Jack's father, but it was Santa Fe that murdered his brother.

The sobs came harder, causing Jack's entire body to shudder with the grief. He closed his eyes against the burning tears, grounding himself in the stench of fresh vomit and the harsh sobbing sound that he couldn't stop, no matter how much he wanted to.

Strong, firm hands gripped Jack's shoulders and he knew that Claude was there, but he didn't want to hear whatever meaningless comforts the older man was going to offer. Nothing was going to bring Crutchie back so any words would be pointless and a complete waste of breath. "Jack. Jack," Claude repeated when Jack merely shook his head, his chest tightening as he realized that he wasn't getting enough air, that he was hyperventilating. "Jack, it's going to be okay." That phrase only made Jack choke out an even louder sob because never before had that word been so hilariously misused. Nothing was going to be okay ever again. Jack had just lost his family and Claude was trying to convince him that it was going to be _okay_? If Jack's heart wasn't so utterly and irrevocably crushed, he would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

"Jack, it's going to be okay. Crutchie's alive." Jack stopped, mid-sob, Claude's words catching him completely off guard. That… that couldn't be. He had seen him. He had heard Sue. "His fever broke. That's why Sue was calling for me. Crutchie's going to be okay, Jack."

"What?" Jack breathed out, his voice cracking on the word.

"Crutchie's fever finally broke. He's going to get better. It's okay now."

As he had been talking, Claude had helped Jack to his feet, but at the sudden relief brought on by Claude's explanation, Jack felt his knees go weak and nearly fell back to the ground. Only Claude's strong hands on his shoulders kept him upright. "Oh, god," Jack breathed in relief, feeling utterly drained after the rollercoaster his emotions had been subjected to.

Claude grinned. "You need to get to bed. I'll clean up this mess." Claude gently led Jack to the bed in the room he shared with Syd, helping him lay down. "Everything will be better in the morning," Claude promised. "Just get some sleep."

Jack was too tired to fight back when Claude pulled the blankets up to Jack's chin, patting him gently on the shoulder. He didn't even try to ward off the darkness that turned his limbs to lead, relinquishing all consciousness and drifting into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 **Here's a quick story: I've been listening to the soundtrack of a musical called Meet John Doe (which I highly recommend, by the way) and Andrew Keenan-Bolger actually plays one of the characters in it. Anyway, in one of the opening songs, the newspapers are all selling out and AKB's character sings, "I bet I could sell it for a couple of bucks." My roommate happened to be walking past and she just mutters, "Heck, yeah, you can. You've got personality." It was fantastic.**

 **Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome. Have a fantastic Wednesday!**


	12. Chapter 12

**It's Wednesday! Happy hump day to you all! No announcements this week, so I hope you like this chapter!**

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Just because Crutchie's fever had broken did not mean that he was out of the woods yet, unfortunately. The young boy remained bed-ridden for nearly a week after the scare that still haunted Jack's dreams, though he was loath to admit it, even to himself. Crutchie's health had weakened and he slept for the majority of those days, accepting the medicine and soup that Sue carefully administered. Much to Jack's relief, he was now allowed to sit with his best friend and so, after each day of working out on the ranch, Jack would make his way to JT and Crutchie's room where he would relate the adventures of the day, enamored with exaggerations.

Those moments were the highlight of the day for Crutchie, when he finally had someone his own age to spend time with him, when he could actually laugh and his weakened body didn't seem to protest too much. Crutchie was the type of boy that thrived around company and being left in the house while Jack was out on the ranch and JT was at school was suffocating. Sue was always around and she was better than being left totally alone, but there is quite a difference in a forty year age gap.

As he convalesced, Crutchie began to leave his bed, generally only for a couple hours before exhaustion wracked his weakened body and Sue had to lead him back to bed. Crutchie was stubborn, however, and wouldn't let a brush with scarlet fever hold him down—he was still secretly afraid that he was just plain useless and his bones ached with the need to do _something_. So, Sue armed the crippled boy with a feather duster and instructed him to dust every surface in the house: a job that wouldn't be too strenuous, gave Crutchie the opportunity to explore the house, and allowed the young boy to take whatever breaks he needed. Crutchie took the job to heart and dusted everything he could find. Twice. In one day. Soon, Sue was giving Crutchie all sorts of odd chores around the house and in the kitchen. It was a win-win situation for the pair: Crutchie felt as if he was actually helping with something and Sue had more time on her hands to work on neglected projects such as half-finished quilts and a mountain of mending.

His wrist was still broken and Claude had informed the boy that he would need to keep it wrapped and be careful for another month or so. This irritated Crutchie, not used to being so limited. He was just thankful that it was his left wrist and not his right, which would have made it nearly difficult to get around on his crutch.

It wasn't until the first week of November that Crutchie was actually up and out of bed for a whole day. Finally, after what had felt like eons to Crutchie, on November 3rd, Sue announced that she felt as if Crutchie was strong enough to return to school. JT had whooped loudly, causing Jessie to scowl in his direction and Claude to remind his son to use inside voices, especially at the dinner table. Crutchie had even cracked a smile, even though he wasn't overjoyed about the prospect of seeing Phillip and his lackeys again, because he ached to get out of the house and actually do something. Plus, the next day was more than just an average Thursday: the fourth was his birthday and Crutchie would finally be sixteen. Practically a grown man, if you asked him.

So, as the sun rose, a new year dawning, Crutchie was already up, watching the golden rays that fingered at the drapes, breaking through the edges. He glanced across the room to JT's bed as the redhead shifted sleepily, blinking in Crutchie's direction. "What're you doing up already, Crutchie? It's early."

 _It's my birthday_ , Crutchie wanted to explain, but the words didn't come out. Crutchie hated being the center of attention and did not feel the need to tell JT the importance of the day that had dawned. Instead, he shrugged. "It's a pretty sunrise."

JT stared at Crutchie as if he had grown a second head or gone bald overnight. "The drapes are still closed. You can't see anything," JT said slowly, silently judging if Crutchie had lost his marbles after his bout with scarlet fever.

"That ain't true. Look at the way the light filters in behind the cloth and the soft glow around the edges. That's what shows a true sunrise. Watching the softest amount of light creep in and brighten up the room. It's beautiful."

JT merely shook his head, grinning. "You're an idiot, you know that right?"

"Who put that idea in your head? You been hanging 'round Jack too much?" Crutchie smirked.

"I don't need Jack to go around telling me the truth," JT shot back, climbing out of bed and stretching his arms above his head. "You ready to go back to school?"

"I'm ready to get out of this house," Crutchie replied.

JT laughed. "Good, because I am very done with having to walk to school all by myself."

"What? You sick of talkin' to yourself?"

"I don't talk to myself," JT griped, pulling on a fresh shirt before tossing Crutchie his crutch. "Come on. Let's get some breakfast."

Crutchie nodded, following JT out of their shared room. For the first time in what felt like forever, he actually felt as if he could down some food and enjoy it. At the table, Sue had just finished putting down a plate stacked with thin pancakes. There was a small pitcher of syrup placed suspiciously strategically next to Syd's own empty plate. Jessie set a pitcher of orange juice on the table, before taking her seat. Crutchie and JT sat down next to each other, JT relating some inane tale about the time he and Phillip had chased a rabbit around the schoolyard.

Jack was the last one to enter the room, disregarding Sue and Claude, who were talking in the kitchen. He placed his hand on Crutchie's shoulder, grinning down at his friend. "Hey, Crutch. How're ya doing today?"

"Oh, the same," Crutchie said, grinning wildly. Of course Jack remembered it was his birthday. Any time now he'd wish him a happy birthday and then JT would be mock-hurt that he hadn't known and maybe they'd all sing to him and Crutchie would be embarrassed, but also very pleased because he hadn't felt so at home with a family like this before.

But, Jack didn't say anything beyond, "Good to hear, kid" and "watch your wrist today." Crutchie felt his grin slip as Jack sat down beside Syd and started excitedly discussing how much Jack had improved when it came to lasso throwing.

 _He forgot_ , Crutchie realized, trying hard to ignore the way his heart dropped uncomfortably. It didn't matter whether Jack remembered or not, Crutchie tried to convince himself. It didn't.

Only, it sure felt like it did.

Crutchie took to staring at the edge of his plate, trying to banish the dull pain of being forgotten again. Besides, it was probably his fault that Jack didn't remember; he hadn't reminded him or brought the importance of November fourth up any time recently. (But a traitorous voice reminded Crutchie that he knew Jack's birthday, wouldn't forget it, whether Jack dropped hints or not.)

Claude and Sue entered the room, taking their normal seats at the table. Breakfast was consumed rowdily and rapidly, with the syrup being spilled only once—a record, as JT excitedly put it. Crutchie found that he had lost his appetite, his belly too consumed with the uncomfortable darkness to attempt much more than a single pancake.

Once the meal was finished and Claude was ushering the older kids out for ranch work, Sue began to help JT and Crutchie gather their books and lunches for school. "Good luck, you two. And don't over-stress yourself, Crutchie. It's your first day back, so you can take it easy."

JT led the way to the schoolhouse, relating funny stories that Crutchie had missed while he was sick. "—and Phillip is just standing there, water dripping from his hair and that's when Ms. Briarwood turns around and she has her switch in her hand and she was talking as she turned around, so this is what she said: 'In the American Revolution, there was a famous traitor by the name of—Phillip Beaurocrav!' The entire class was in stitches and Ms. Briarwood couldn't get us to quiet down for a good ten minutes because each time the laughter would start to die down, someone would glance at Phillip's soaked shirt and it would start back up all over again. And then, because they were laughing, everyone else'd start laughing and I swear, Ms. Briarwood's head was going to burst. She had this vein that stood up on her forehead and it was pulsing, up and down and up and down and up and down and I thought it would pop for sure." JT glanced at Crutchie and noticed the other boy wasn't enjoying the story nearly as much as JT had expected him to. The crippled kid hadn't even smiled. "Ah, well, maybe you had to be there," JT finished lamely.

"Sorry, JT. It was a good story, I just ain't…" Crutchie trailed off, unsure of how he had meant to finish that sentence.

"Nah, it's okay. You'd have laughed if you were there. Boy, am I glad that you're coming back to school. It's more fun when you're there."

"I don't even sit by you," Crutchie pointed out.

"I know and it's still fun! Imagine how much better it'll be next year when Ms. Briarwood knows that you can read just as well as me and we're grouped together." JT frowned. "It really isn't fair that she wouldn't let you try and prove you can read. I don't know who ripped that page out, but it just wasn't nice."

Crutchie didn't have the heart to tell JT that he suspected Phillip to be involved with the guilty party. He didn't expect the aristocratic-looking boy to have done the ripping himself, but figured that Phillip had convinced one of his many followers to do his dirty work. "It's fine. I don't really mind being at the front."

Once they reached the schoolyard, Phillip and his lackeys—of course, Crutchie thought bitterly—approached the pair. "Hey, JT," Phillip began, his cold eyes settling on Crutchie. "You're back," he stated, voice impassive.

Crutchie desperately wanted to shoot back a sarcastic barb and maybe hit the smug aristocrat in the head with his crutch, but merely lowered his eyes. He nodded, not daring to open his mouth in case something rude came out instead of the meek answer Phillip was expecting.

"Yeah, he was really sick," JT said when he noticed that Crutchie wasn't responding to Phillip. "He almost died," JT added.

"Hm," Phillip settled for, his eyes scanning Crutchie for any lingering weakness. "It was that serious?"

"Oh, it was seriously…uh, serious," JT said, nodding.

"And Crutchie managed to pull through," Phillip said, grinning. Crutchie eyed the malicious grin, noting the sarcasm that tinted the six short words. He shrugged off the cruel glares Phillip was cockily shooting at him. He wouldn't let anything mess up his birthday. This day was about him and he wasn't going to let anyone bring him down.

Crutchie managed a soft grin in Phillip's direction. "I don't give up that easy," he explained softly.

"Really?" Phillip asked, his eyebrow quirking. "That's interesting."

Crutchie held Phillip's gaze. "Yeah, it is."

The two boys stared at each other, challenging the other to lower his eyes first. Crutchie knew that Phillip would probably pay him in full for being so obstinate, but today was his day and nothing Phillip threatened would make him back down.

"Let's just get to class before Ms. Briarwood gets upset," JT suggested, noting the way that neither Crutchie nor Phillip seemed ready to break the tense staring contest that had started up. Phillip nodded stiffly, before waving some of his boys over and heading into the schoolhouse. Crutchie allowed a triumphant smile to lift the corners of his mouth. "So, what's up with you and Phillip?" JT asked.

Crutchie shrugged. "I don't know. We just didn't hit it off that great my first day here."

JT nodded. "Phillip isn't always the best until you get to know him. But, I'm sure if you just talk to him, you'll see that he isn't that bad."

Crutchie barely resisted rolling his eyes. "Okay, JT. I'll try."

Inside the schoolhouse, Crutchie took his seat next to Susie, one of the three six year olds he had made friends with the first day. She grinned at him, showcasing the gap in her front teeth. "Look what I lost!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Wow," Crutchie replied, grinning. "When'd you lose your tooth?"

"A couple days ago," Susie admitted, "but, you haven't been here."

Grant piped up. "Yeah, where have you been?"

"I got sick," Crutchie explained. "But, I'm better now."

"That's good," Susie said. "We sorta missed you."

"Only sorta?" Crutchie teased.

Susie giggled and David added, "Grant and I sorta missed you, but Susie missed you a lot. She has a crush on you," he tattled proudly.

"Do not!" Susie shouted, her face burning bright red.

"Do too," Grant said, high fiving David.

Susie's poor six-year old pride was in danger of being completely crushed. In defense of her innocent love, Susie began to hit David just as hard as she could, smacking his shoulder angrily and trying to keep from crying.

Crutchie, who had been finding the whole situation rather adorable, quickly tried to pull the two six-year olds apart, but Susie would have none of that. She pushed David with renewed anger driven by the fact that the boy she had a crush on was trying to stop them and the young boy toppled backwards off the bench. David wasn't hurt, merely startled and grinned up at Susie with new admiration.

The clatter of David's fall attracted the attention of Ms. Briarwood, who immediately zeroed in on the table. "Who pushed David?" Ms. Briarwood asked.

Susie's eyes were watering and threatening to spill over at even the slightest provocation. It was bad enough that Crutchie now knew she _liked_ him, but now Ms. Briarwood was sure to whip her for pushing David down.

Susie took a shuddering breath, ready to admit to the whole awful thing, but Crutchie beat her to it. With a sigh, he said, "It was me."

The three six year olds glanced at Crutchie, surprised that he would take the blame. Ms. Briarwood cocked her head. "Well, Christopher, there will be no fighting in this schoolroom. Come to the front of the room."

As Crutchie received the switch, Susie stared at him, her young, female heart fluttering. "My hero," she whispered. David watched her stare at Crutchie with unconcealed adoration, learning his first lesson in jealousy and not enjoying it at all. Grant simply watched Crutchie, wanting to be just as brave as the older boy when he grew up.

The remainder of the day passed with Crutchie massaging his sore leg, Susie furtively sneaking glances of Crutchie—which he noticed every single time—before turning back to her primer and blushing furiously, David trying to get Susie's attention by scribbling on her book and pulling her hair and having her only brush his antics off and go back to admiring Crutchie, and Grant studying because he was going to be as smart as Crutchie or…or die, Grant added to himself dramatically.

"You didn't push that kid did you?" JT asked once the pair was outside the schoolhouse and on the way home.

"No, but it was better for me to get whipped a little than any of those kids. They're only six."

"I guess." JT fell silent for a moment, before suddenly switching topics. "So, me and some of the other boys were talking about where we'd go if we could go anywhere in the world. I'd want to go to Egypt and see the pyramids. Don'tcha think that would be cool? I could ride a camel around and maybe find tons of gold and Egyptian treasures. Maybe I'd even see a mummy. What about you, Crutch? Where'd you go?"

Crutchie thought about it. He wasn't really interested in traveling the world. But, if he did have a pocketful of cash, Crutchie knew exactly where he'd go. "New York."

"You'd go back?" JT asked, confused.

 _It's the only place I've ever belonged_ , Crutchie wanted to tell him, but knew that those words would only hurt JT's feelings. "Yeah, I miss my friends there."

"You've got friends here."

"I know. I'd only visit," Crutchie lied.

JT grinned. "Oh, yeah. I wouldn't want to live in Egypt, just visit, too. Hey, maybe you could introduce me to your friends."

"You'd like them," Crutchie said, before describing the different newsboys he had grown up with. It was an easy conversation to fall into and allowed him to speak on auto-pilot while he thought about what he'd do if he were actually given a chance to return, what Jack would do if Crutchie returned. It was just too complicated and it wasn't as if it was even an option for Crutchie.

Crutchie had just finished telling JT how they had met Davey and Les, coupled with hilarious caricatures of the brothers, when they reached the house. JT pushed open the door, about to announce that they were home, but stopped short when he realized all the lights of the house were off. "This is weird," JT whispered to Crutchie as he stepped inside, fumbling for the curtains to let some light in.

JT pulled open the curtains that covered the wide front window, allowing light to spread across the room. "Surprise!" The shout frightened JT, whose hand jerked, tearing one of the curtains on accident. Crutchie also jumped, turning away from JT, whom he had been watching, and toward the center of the room where the shout had come from.

The four Holloways were standing there, grinning. Jack crossed the room, pulling Crutchie into a one-armed hug. "Happy birthday, Crutchie."

"You remembered?" Crutchie asked, beaming.

"Of course! I'm a little offended you'd think I'd forget," Jack said, pretending to be upset. It didn't last very long and a wild grin broke through almost immediately. He gave Crutchie a quick noogie, pulling the younger boy closer. "Finally sixteen, huh?"

"Wait?" JT asked, confused. "It's your birthday? And you didn't tell me?" JT lightly hit Crutchie on the shoulder. "C'mon, Crutch. You should've told me."

Sue laughed. "Don't hit the birthday boy," she admonished. "And if you would like, I've got cake in the kitchen."

"You told everyone?" Crutchie asked Jack.

"Well, I had to."

"You didn't tell me," JT pouted.

Syd shoved his baby brother gently. "Quit complaining. I want some cake. Ma made Tres Leches." Crutchie glanced up at the name and Syd explained, "It's a Mexican desert. Tres leches means 'three milks.'"

"It's really good," JT asserted.

Jack led Crutchie into the dining room, sitting down in JT's seat next to Crutchie. When JT half-heartedly glared at Jack, Jack explained, "Hey, I've known him longer. I think I get to sit by Crutchie on his birthday."

Sue handed Crutchie a plate of cake, gesturing for him to try it. "This is so good," Crutchie said after his first bite, before quickly digging his fork back in.

"I'm glad you like it," Sue said, dishing up cake for the rest of the family.

Jack wolfed his piece down before standing up and looking JT in the eye. "No taking my seat. I'll be back in a second. And you," he added, glancing at Crutchie, "close your eyes and no peeking."

"I wasn't going to take your dumb seat…" JT muttered, serving himself a second slice of cake.

Crutchie rolled his eyes before shutting them. He waited only a moment, before he heard Jack's voice behind him, "Now, I know it isn't much, but it was the best I could do. You can open your eyes now."

Crutchie turned around, catching sight of a grinning Jack proudly holding a brown cowboy hat. "No way," Crutchie breathed, staring at the Stetson.

"Wait 'til you actually put it on," Jack suggested, plopping the hat on Crutchie's head. It was a little big, but Jack explained that that was so he could grow into it.

Sue pulled out a small hand mirror that she must have gotten out of the bathroom she shared with Claude for this reason and allowed Crutchie to see what he looked like with the cowboy hat on. "I love it, Jack. It's perfect."

"Now you look like a real cowboy, ridin' in style and such," Jack said, patting Crutchie on his back.

Crutchie laughed. "I can't believe this." He laughed once more; it had been a long time since he had felt so carefree and happy. And he did look like a cowboy. A cowboy who had plenty of friends. Santa Fe was turning out to not be as bad as Crutchie had thought.

"Happy birthday, kid," Jack said, pulling Crutchie into a hug.

* * *

 **I know this wasn't the most exciting of chapters, but we're about to hit the running stretch, where everything starts going downhill. You can't be too mad at me for giving Crutchie some happiness. He deserves it. Anyway, thanks for everyone who is supporting me in this and please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey, everyone! Here's the next installment of Riding Palominos! I do actually have an important question for my readers down at the bottom, so I would really appreciate it if you'd take the time to answer it. Other than that, enjoy this chapter! (And, wow, this is my longest chapter right now!)**

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Crutchie took to wearing his new cowboy hat around everywhere. The only times his head was bare was during school—he wouldn't take the hat there in fear that Phillip or one of the boys would mess it up—or while he was sleeping. And even then, the hat was hung on the bedpost within arm's reach. Initially, Jack and JT would tease Crutchie about the Stetson, but Crutchie would merely grin at the other boy, tip his hat in their direction, and saunter off—well, as much as he could with a crutch.

It quickly just became an expected fact that Crutchie would be wearing that cowboy hat and the other boys stopped teasing Crutchie. In fact, Jack was secretly pleased that Crutchie kept the hat around constantly; he hadn't been able to get Crutchie anything really meaningful for his birthday for the past couple years, so he was glad that something had finally made an impact.

Two days after Crutchie's birthday, Jack and Crutchie were lying on the floor of the living room, watching Syd and JT play chess. On Saturdays, Claude generally gave his children less work in order to allow them a weekend and they had all finished their assigned chores. While it had been interesting at the beginning to watch the Holloway boys move the pieces around, the game had dragged on and was beginning to bore the ex-New Yorkers. "Just give up," Crutchie suggested as JT's fingers hovered over his knight. Or horse, as Crutchie and Jack called it. "Let him kill your horse and be over with it."

"No, no. I can do this. There has to be a way…" JT murmured, concentrating on where he could move his knight without putting himself in check or getting the knight killed.

"No, I'm with Crutchie. You should just give up," Syd suggested, a grin playing at his lips.

"There has to be a way."

"Losing is a way," Jack pointed out.

"It's not my way, though."

"And what is your way, pray tell? Gracious defeat?" Syd teased.

JT frowned, finally moving his knight. "No…"

"You're right. It certainly isn't 'gracious,' but it is definitely 'defeat,'" Syd said as he moved his queen to the strategic position he'd been eyeing for the past couple moves. "Checkmate."

"I ain't an expert at chess," Jack said, grinning, "but, it looks like you just lost."

"Oh, shut up, Jack. Rematch?" JT challenged.

Syd quirked an eyebrow at his younger brother. "You're so eager to lose again?"

"Who said anything about losing?" JT responded confidently, repositioning his pieces in their appropriate spots.

Crutchie sighed. "Look, as much fun as it is to watch JT get crushed, is there anything else Jack and I could do?"

"Anything?" a familiar voice asked. Jack and Crutchie whipped their heads around, straining their necks in the uncomfortable position to look Claude Holloway in the eye.

"I mean, not _anything_ ," Crutchie quickly corrected, wary of whatever awful chore Claude may have in store for the two boys.

"I figured there was a line of fine print attached to that statement," Claude joked. "Do you two want to go to the Bank and General Store with me? It will get you out of the house and give you something to do, even though it isn't the most glamorous of trips."

Jack shrugged, standing up. "We ain't got anything better to do, right, Crutch?"

Crutchie pulled himself up, thankful that his leg wasn't hurting anymore. It had been so embarrassing, back before he got sick, when he would need Jack or JT's help to stand up all because his leg hurt too much to take the pressure and weight that that simple motion required. He adjusted his Stetson, grinning. "Anything's better than watching Syd cream JT."

"Hey!" JT cried out, offended. Syd snickered as his bishop took out one of JT's unguarded rooks. "Hey!" JT repeated, upset at this newest offense.

"Well, come along you two," Claude said, turning to leave the room. He paused, mid-turn, before glancing back at his son. "And, Syd, go easy on your brother. He isn't as good at chess as you are."

"Hey!" JT shouted. "Does no one here support me?"

"Nope," Crutchie said, much to cheerfully in JT's opinion.

JT chucked one of his killed pieces at Crutchie, the black pawn whizzing through the air just shy of Crutchie's chest. "I cannot believe you, Crutch. And here I thought we were brothers."

"And here I thought you had better aim."

Syd snickered again, before motioning back to the chess board. "Just move, JT, and let them get on their way. I don't have all day to wait for you to lose."

"I hate each and every one of you," JT groused, finally settling on moving his knight, which was immediately murdered by one of Syd's pawns. JT let out a small indignant squeak at that new offence.

Claude grinned at his sons' antics, leading Jack and Crutchie out of the house to where Storm was hooked to a small wagon. Jack and Crutchie took their seats and Claude gently urged his horse into a quick trot down the stretch of dirt driveway. The road to town was dry and dusty and the red particles swirled through the air, stirred up by Storm's quick movement. Crutchie half-turned in his seat, watching the cloud of red dust settle behind them. He coughed as a gust of wind blew some of the dust back right into his face and Jack suddenly had his arm around Crutchie's shoulders. "You okay, Crutch?"

"Yeah, it's just the dust."

Jack nodded, turning his gaze away, toward the horizon. "I still can't believe we're actually out here, breathing in the Santa Fe air."

"Choking on it, more like," Crutchie muttered, clearing his throat against the small granules of dirt that had managed to get well and truly stuck in his esophagus.

"It's a dream come true."

Crutchie scanned the horizon, noting in the distance some man on a horse, galloping and lost to the world. He had no idea how to feel about Santa Fe. As much as Crutchie enjoyed the company of the Holloways—and, as frightening as it was to the young boy, he nearly trusted the family—he knew that he wasn't the type of person that could forge a life out in Santa Fe. He had a gimp leg and everyone knew just how much of a disaster his last attempt on a horse was. There wasn't much Crutchie could do in Santa Fe other than rely on the support and kindness of others to survive. Maybe he could get a job as a grocer or a banker, but a crip's options were severely limited out in the West. When folks said a man could make his own fortune out in the West, they always failed to mention that a man was defined as someone with all four healthy limbs. And Crutchie knew this, but it didn't stop him from dreaming of being out under the shining sun, a palomino between his legs.

"It sure is a dream all right," Crutchie whispered, watching the man on the horse as he wheeled around and headed in the opposite direction. If he watched long enough, Crutchie could pretend that was him: rein in hand, Stetson shoved down over sweaty hair, cheeks flushed, and grin wide as the Rio Grande itself.

The remainder of the ride into town went quietly, both boys lost in their dreams. Jack envisioned himself with his own ranch, a strong horse to ride, and a warm satisfaction that spread from toe-tip to sweatied Stetson. And as Jack bounced along with the motion of the wagon and breathed in the distinct scents of horse and sweat and dust, it all seemed more like a reality than a dream. Crutchie looked up at the blue sky, wondering if his dream would ever be granted, but unable to fight back the intense feeling that nothing like what Jack would get, what Crutchie could only imagine, would ever be his.

It didn't seem long before Claude pulled Storm to a stop, hitching him to a post. "It will just be a quick stop at the Bank," Claude reassured the boys. Jack jumped down quickly and offered to help Crutchie get out of the back of the wagon, but the younger boy waved Jack's hand away.

The Bank had large pillars, whose diameter probably exceeded the length of Jack and Crutchie's combined arm lengths. Bespectacled, intelligent-looking men with grave faces and white whiskers exited the building, not casting even the briefest glance at Claude, Jack, or Crutchie. Large windows were built beside the door, sunlight streaming through the paned glass and illuminating the dust particles that swirled in the stale air.

"I've never felt more out of place in my life," Jack commented, as Claude went up to the counter to work with the moustached bank teller. He self-consciously straightened his shirt, regretting the sweat stains that were all-too apparent.

"Oh, you have no idea," Crutchie muttered softly.

Jack must not have caught Crutchie's quiet words because he nudged the younger boy. "Hey, you'se supposed to make me feel better, not just stand there all quiet while I suffer."

"Would this help?" Crutchie teased, shoving Jack back.

"Oh, now you're gonna get it." Jack shoved Crutchie back even harder, causing the boy to actually stumble a bit.

Crutchie immediately retaliated, the force with which he shoved the boy sending Jack sprawling backwards into the arms of a taller man who had just entered the bank. The newcomer's grip tightened around Jack's shoulders, yanking the seventeen-year-old up. Before Jack could fully comprehend the situation, something cold and hard was pressed against his ear and an arm had snaked around his chest to hold him immobile. "Nobody move or I shoot the kid!"

Jack froze instantly, fear clutching his stomach. A gun. That was what was pressed into his ear, irritating his tender skin. Jack glanced at Crutchie and noticed the scared, wide-eyed look the younger boy was shooting him. Suddenly, the Wild West wasn't as fun as it had seemed only minutes earlier.

Crutchie's eyes darted from Jack's face—and, gosh, Crutchie couldn't remember Jack looking that scared ever before—to the face of the man holding his best friend hostage. He had dark hair and cold, steely eyes, but the remainder of the man's face was hidden by a red bandana. Two other men, their faces equally hidden, stood partially behind the leader. Crutchie jumped when he felt an arm on his shoulder, gently pulling him back. Claude.

"I said don't move!" the man shouted, his eyes flicking to where Claude had carefully pulled Crutchie behind him. "I'll shoot the kid!" the man threatened, shoving the gun even harder into the side of Jack's head, causing the teen to wince at the sudden increase of pressure. Claude remained still, as did the other people within the bank and the man nodded to himself. "Okay, good. Good. Now, this'll only take a moment. I need you to get all the money from the bank and give them to my friends here. If you follow my instructions, no one will get hurt. Okay?"

The bank teller nodded nervously. "Okay, okay. Just—just don't shoot anybody."

The leader motioned for his two friends to follow the bank teller to the safe where they could gather up the money they needed. This left the leader alone, holding Jack in the center of the bank. "Young man, you don't want to do this," Claude spoke up.

The words made the bank robber jump and his eyes darted quickly to Claude. "You just shut up."

"Listen to me. You need to let the kid go. It's one thing to rob a bank; murder is entirely different. You get caught robbing a bank, you go to jail for a couple of years. That's bad, I understand. But, you get caught after killing a kid, you get hung. And that's the end of the line."

"And what if I shoot you?" the leader challenged, pulling the gun from Jack's head to point at Claude's chest.

"It's still murder and it's wrong," Crutchie piped up, irritation loosening the tongue that had been frozen in fear. "And what's this robbery gonna do for you?" Crutchie continued angrily. This guy had threatened to shoot Jack, had pointed the gun at Claude and those actions made Crutchie beyond angry. People couldn't just go around threatening to hurt his family and not expect Crutchie to make a stand. Family was all he had and he was going to protect that to his last breath. "So, you get a bit of money, but you're probably gonna blow it and have to rob another bank. One of these times, you'se gonna get caught and what then? You'll go to jail and maybe even be hung."

"Crutchie," Claude cautioned, his voice low and taut. Jack also looked extremely worried, but Crutchie attributed that to the fact that he was still being held captive by a gun-wielding robber.

The bank robber was glaring at him, Crutchie realized. "Listen to him, crip," he advised. "I could put a hole in your good leg and that still wouldn't be murder."

"Go ahead and try," Crutchie challenged. "I don't care. You can shoot me; just don't you dare hurt Jack or Claude."

"We'll see just how well you can stop me from hurting them with a hole in your skull," the bank robber threatened, the gun swinging to point at Crutchie, who continued to glare at the robber.

At this point, he knew it was stupid, reckless, probably even suicidal, but he didn't care. It was idiotic and in the back of his mind, Crutchie knew that the odds were that it wouldn't even work, but Crutchie was willing to give up his unrealistic Santa Fe dream for Jack to actually gain his. If getting shot would help Jack and Claude, then maybe that made it okay. This situation basically fell into the category of lying: Crutchie was willing to do what needed to be done to make it better and happier for those he cared about.

So, Crutchie continued to glare at the bank robber, ignoring the way Claude's jaw had tightened. He risked one glance at Jack, but had to break eye contact quickly: Crutchie couldn't stand seeing how wide and frightened Jack's eyes were or how they were sending messages of "stop" and "please, please don't do this" that Crutchie just had to ignore. And maybe Jack would understand why later. Because, while Jack could get on in Santa Fe without Crutchie, Crutchie would fall apart if he didn't have Jack with him. Not to mention that Crutchie knew he owed Claude his life and if that was the exact payment, well, Crutchie wasn't one to cheat out of a fair payment. Crutchie squared his shoulders and dared the bank robber to take the shot. "If you think you can get away with it-"

Then everything happened all at the same time. Jack was suddenly moving, an elbow flashing into the robber's stomach. And Claude had somehow moved to be standing in front of Crutchie, shielding him. And Jack was still struggling to get away from the bank robber.

And then the gun went off.

And then Crutchie forgot how to breathe.

Everything seemed to stop in that moment. Jack and the bank robber were frozen, staring at Crutchie. But, no, not Crutchie. At Claude. At Claude who was clutching his arm. His bloody arm. Claude stumbled backwards, bumping into Crutchie. "Claude!" Crutchie shouted, unsure of what he was supposed to do in this situation. Claude might be _dying_ and Crutchie couldn't think of anything he could do to help the older man.

The bank robber shoved Jack away from him, motioning for his friends, who had quickly returned to the main room after hearing the shot. "We don't got the money," one of them said when the leader gestured to run.

"It doesn't matter," the leader said, taking one last lingering glance at Claude, before taking off, his fellow robbers close behind.

Claude continued to grip his arm, but the initial shock of being shot seemed to have worn off. "I'm fine, boys. It's just a flesh wound," he reassured Jack and Crutchie.

"You were shot!" Jack exclaimed.

"I've been shot before and I imagine this isn't the last time."

"You sure you're fine?" Jack asked.

Claude nodded. "This really isn't anything. We can stop by Tim's on the way out of here and he'll patch me up just fine. The shot surprised me more than anything. You about ready to get out of here?" Claude asked, hissing as he accidentally pulled the wound.

"For sure," Jack agreed, helping Claude out to the wagon.

Crutchie followed, silent. He couldn't believe Claude would have jumped in front of him like that, that the older man had gotten _shot_ for him. And, sure, Claude seemed fine, but what if he wasn't fine next time. Not that Crutchie planned for there to ever be a next time, but the thought terrified him nonetheless. It was one thing for Jack to throw himself into a fight to protect Crutchie—that was normal; they had known each other for a lifetime—but Claude was still a stranger. It had barely been a month and Claude was still willing to do something as foolhardy as throw himself in the line of fire. It just didn't make any sense.

* * *

Getting home didn't take nearly as long as Jack thought it would. Dr. Cavanaugh had been quick and, startlingly, effective with a needle. It was disconcerting to think just how many bullet holes he had sewn up in the length of his career. Jack had been the one guiding Storm since Claude's left arm was out of commission, leaving Claude and Crutchie in the back of the wagon. The ride had been silent, with everyone lost in thought or reliving the bank robbery that had just happened. Jack had tried to break the silence with a slight laugh and, "Well, now that we've been through a bank robbery, all we need to have happen is a kidnapping and a murder. Then we'd really be gettin' the true Santa Fe experience, eh, Crutch?" No one had laughed and Jack had fallen silent once more.

Once the actually reached the Holloway house, Jack leaped down to help Claude, who had accidentally used his left arm to lever himself up. "Keep forgetting about that," he ground out, his teeth clenched.

"Yeah, I'm sure a bullet hole is real easy to forget," Jack replied, rolling his eyes.

Crutchie followed after the pair, flinching when he heard Sue shout Claude's name within the house. For the first time in what felt like ages, Crutchie actually hesitated before entering; he couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't belong here.

"Are you okay?" Sue asked, her tender hands helping Claude take a seat. All of his children were surrounding him, all worried—even Jack was up there near them, making sure Claude was comfortable. Crutchie stood back to the side, watching from a distance.

"I'm fine, Sue. Tim already sewed me up and everything. Just tired. Do you mind pouring me a scotch?"

Sue left the room and JT immediately crowded his father. "What happened? Who shot you? Did you shoot them back? Was the sheriff there?"

"Whoa, hold on, JT. It was a bank robbery. The robber shot me and no, I did not shoot him back. The sheriff hadn't showed up by the time we left."

"You guys were in a real bank robbery?" JT asked, his eyebrows skyrocketing. "Wow… I wish I was there."

Claude shook his head. "No, you don't. We were very lucky that only I was shot. And that it only scraped past my arm."

Sue came back with a glass of scotch, which Claude downed in one swallow. "Thanks, Sue. I think I'm going to lay down for a while," he said, standing up. When Claude swayed a bit, Sue helped him to their room.

The following dinner was even more awkward than the one with Gabriel. Claude's empty seat was all too noticeable and everyone ate quietly. Throughout the dinner, Jack kept glancing at Crutchie, who would avoid eye contact as well as he could. Guilt was building in the pit of his stomach and he really didn't feel up for a conversation with Jack about what had happened only hours earlier. After the tense meal, Jack cornered Crutchie in the hallway, just like he knew he would. "You doin' okay? You seemed awful quiet after the thing at the bank."

"I'm fine, Jack." The pit of guilt was morphing into something darker and angrier. Why did Jack even think that Crutchie needed to be looked after? Crutchie had done just fine handling himself through all the previous crap life had tossed at him and he would do the same this time.

"No offense, but you don't strike me as fine, Crutchie. What was that back there where you were all but asking that guy to shoot you?"

"Look, Jack, I'm fine. Just leave me alone tonight." Crutchie tried to edge past Jack and make his way to his room, but Jack held his arm out, blocking the hallway.

"No, I ain't leaving this alone. You sure as hell aren't actin' like you're fine. Talk to me; it'll feel better, I promise."

Crutchie rolled his eyes, irritation making itself known. He just wanted to go to bed and sleep that awful memory away, but, of course, Jack thought he knew what was best for Crutchie and Crutchie just couldn't take it much longer. "No, I guess I ain't fine, but when did that ever matter?" Jack always seemed to be focused on himself and Crutchie was sick of it.

"What?" Jack asked, taken aback.

"You heard me," Crutchie ground out. "Look, I ain't enjoyin' this town like you is. I pretend and I pretend, but Jack, I ain't pretending no more. I hate it here. I hate that school. I hate the dirt. I hate the horses. I hate how—" But Crutchie cut himself off, because no matter how angry he was, he didn't plan on ending that sentence for Jack. _I hate how I'll never be more than a crip out here to anyone._

"No." Jack shook his head, refusing to listen. _Typical_ , Crutchie thought. "No, that ain't true. You'se… just upset about what happened today."

"I'se been thinking a lot, Jack, and I don't think I belong here."

"Look around, Crutch! We'se got a real, honest-to-God family out here. We'se got people who care about us."

Crutchie just stared at Jack, wondering how the older boy could be so blind. _He_ had a real, honest-to-God family. Not Crutchie. No, Crutchie was not part of this family, had never been. "Look, I'm just tired. So, if you'll excuse me-"

Jack shook his head angrily, running a hand jerkily through his hair. "I just don't get you anymore, Crutchie. I thought—this was our dream!"

"Maybe you don't get me anymore because you don't take the time to listen," Crutchie bit out, his eyes flashing angrily.

"Maybe I don't get you because you don't take the time to ever talk to me," Jack shot back.

"This ain't about me. Don't make this about me."

Jack laughed harshly. "This ain't about you? Crutch, I'm constantly having to look after you and make sure you haven't gone and fallen off a horse or caught some disease and now I need to make sure you aren't getting shot by bank robbers and," Jack laughed once more, the sound mean and mocking, "so, yeah, maybe you're right. Maybe you don't belong in Santa Fe, but you'se here now. You just gotta man up and deal with it."

"I'll see you in the morning," Crutchie said, his voice carefully even. Jack's words cut deeper than Crutchie had thought they would. He had been the one to start the argument, but each word that came out of Jack's mouth hurt more and more.

"How can you be so _stupid_?" Jack shouted, his voice hissing out the last word. "You're just being selfish, Crutchie."

Crutchie's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say in defense of himself. Especially, since he found the words to be uncomfortably true.

"This conversation isn't over, yeah? Think about what I said and we'll talk tomorrow morning," Jack said, glancing searchingly in Crutchie's eyes before growling in frustration and turning away. Crutchie watched his best friend, his brother, walk away and wondered if he had shattered that friendship beyond repair. This was why Crutchie refused to tell people what thoughts ran through his mind because it invariably led to someone being upset at him. Crutchie made his way to his shared room, sitting down hard on the bed. He shouldn't have told Jack. He should have just made something up about being shocked from the bank robbery. Why would he just go and say he hated Santa Fe? He didn't really. Crutchie grinned bitterly. No, he didn't hate the town; he hated himself for not being able to fit in.

Crutchie sat there for a moment, going through all the varied emotions and thoughts that ran the gamut through his mind. Yes, he didn't fit in. But, Jack seemed to think he was part of the family. That was absurd. Crutchie never fit into a family; his track record wasn't exactly something to be proud of. And it wasn't as if anyone else wanted him here—Phillip and Ms. Briarwood came to mind. Claude had jumped in front of him and taken a bullet. Claude didn't know he'd get shot and if he had known… Jack's words that Santa Fe was their dream. But, no, they didn't have the same dream. _Watch me stand, watch me run._

With a short cry of frustration, Crutchie stood up, nearly ripping the cowboy hat from his head. He couldn't bring himself to do that. Maybe he didn't completely fit in here in Santa Fe, but he could try. And he would. For Jack. For the Holloways. For that small sliver of hope that maybe he'd get better and it would all turn out alright. First, though, he had to make things right between him and Jack.

Crutchie crept down the hallway, as quietly as he could be with a crutch. JT had been half-asleep when Crutchie had left the room and he knew that the rest of the Holloways were probably also drifting toward sleep. However, soft words stopped Crutchie in his tracks. He listened, recognizing the voices as Claude's and Sue's.

"I'm fine, I promise," Claude said.

"I'm putting that arm in a sling tomorrow, so you'll stop trying to use it," Sue replied.

"It isn't that bad."

There was silence for a moment, before Sue asked, "Were you able to get the loan?"

"No. We've got to pay back more of the first one before the bank will give out a second."

"We can't do that, Claude. We don't have the money," Sue said, her voice taut and worried.

Claude sighed. "I know. And with my arm like this… I'm going to have to ask Clark to come back and help."

"You know he can't. He has his own little farm to work on."

"We're running out of options, Sue. And there isn't enough money to go around. I don't know what to do."

Crutchie backed away, Claude's words circling his mind. The Holloways were running out of money. Because of him. He was the only one—disregarding JT, who was their son—that wasn't earning his keep. And now Crutchie had managed to get Claude shot, so Claude wouldn't be able to work as much. Oh, god, what had he done? The only people who seemed to show even an ounce of care toward the crippled boy and he had managed to screw up their life. He quickly made his way back to his room, stopping in the doorway to take in the room one last time. Crutchie knew what he had to do. There really was no other option.

Jack had thought it was selfish of him to talk about his fears and worries regarding fitting into Santa Fe, so maybe it was time for Crutchie to do something selfless. He'd run and then everything would be right. Jack would get his dream, the Holloways would have enough money, and Crutchie— _stupid, selfish Crutchie_ , Crutchie thought, recalling Jack's bitterly honest words—would be out of the picture.

It only took a few brief moments for Crutchie to pack up his sparse belongings, gathering up the small amount of money he had saved from his days as a newsie. It was what was best for everyone. He didn't belong here anyway. With a heavy heart, Crutchie lofted up his bag, stepping outside of the room, before pausing. Slowly, Crutchie removed the beloved Stetson from his head and returned to place it on the center of the bed. The cowboy hat looked forlorn in the moonlight streaming through the window, but Crutchie refused to take it with him.

To himself, Crutchie whispered, "Just hold on, kid, 'til that train makes New York."

* * *

 **So, tell me what you think. Like it? Hate it? I'm so excited for this next section of the story because we finally get some of the New York characters back into the narrative. And, man, have I missed a couple of them. Anyway, leave me a review! It always makes my day.**

 **Also, I do have one legit question for y'all. Would you be interested in a sequel to this story? I have one planned out, but I won't actually commit it to paper unless people want to read it. So, yay or nay? Have a fantabulous Wednesday!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Happy hump day!**

 **To Kaori-chan and Mara May, thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad you're both enjoying it. And, yes, Mara May, Crutchie does need a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies. Thank you both!**

 **My last announcement, of sorts, is I have started working on the sequel, so that will be coming, once I finish posting this. It will be called The Hearts of Palominos, if anyone is interested.**

 **Anyway, read on, my ostriches!**

* * *

When Crutchie stepped off the train in New York, he realized that maybe he hadn't quite thought out everything. The brisk wind that tugged at his hair and made his eyes water in the cold reminded Crutchie that it was November. In New York. It was startlingly colder than Santa Fe and Crutchie regretted that he only had a thin coat, the thick one having been left at the Lodging House when Jack and Crutchie had first left. Jack had convinced Crutchie that you didn't need coats in the West, where the sun shone all year round. And he was correct, at least so far. But, coming back to New York, Crutchie sure missed that coat. He had given it to Buttons and maybe the kid still had it. Maybe he'd be willing to share just until Crutchie got back into the newsie life and had scraped enough coins together to find some cheap coat from the second-hand store the newsies would frequent. Or maybe one of the nuns would bring him a coat if they saw he was freezing.

"Move along, crip!" someone behind him on the train platform shouted, quickly spurring Crutchie into motion.

He made his way off of the train platform, watching his breath billow out in a cloud of warm steam. Crutchie allowed a grin to stretch across his face. He sort of missed this type of weather: the indefatiguable gray of the sky and the clouds of every passerby's breath and the spindly branches of leaveless trees. It was a magical time, where everything seemed to be dead, but there was still so much life all around him.

This. This was where he belonged.

Crutchie resituated his crutch under his shoulder and headed off in the direction of the newsies' Lodging House. He ignored the uncomfortable twitching of his leg, remembering exactly what cold snaps like this could do to the twisted limb. The distance to the Lodging House was longer than Crutchie remembered and his leg was good and truly aching by the time the familiar building came into view. With a soft grin and refreshed eagerness, Crutchie quickly pulled himself up the stairs, knocking on the door.

Boy, wouldn't this surprise the boys? They'd think that they'd have seen the last of Jack and Crutchie and look who landed here on their doorstep? Crutchie smiled as he thought how the younger newsies would gather around him to hear all the tales about Santa Fe and the Wild West. The older boys would pretend to be uninterested or not care, but they'd carefully situate themselves within hearing distance, even if they disguised themselves as focused on a game of marbles or something of the like. Crutchie would be a hero after he related the story of the bank robbery and how Jack was stuck, gun to his head. The smile slipped as Crutchie recalled how Claude had gotten shot and Crutchie had ruined the Holloway family's ability to make money. Maybe he wouldn't tell that story.

The grin was whipped back into place as the door was pulled open, but it fell into confusion when Crutchie realized that he was staring at a boy he had never seen before. Well, it wasn't as if Race wouldn't find other boys to replace Jack and Crutchie, so he shouldn't be surprised. "Who are you?" the kid asked, brushing dirty brown hair out of his eye.

"My name's Crutchie. I'm here to talk to Race."

"Race?" the kid asked. He didn't look to be older than eleven and his face was grubbier than Jack would have allowed. Crutchie understood that you wanted to look dirty and inspire pity, but if you were too dirty, sometimes the customers would just skirt past you and not buy a pape. There was an art to dirty faces and Race should've known this and wouldn't have allowed the kid to go so long without a bath.

"Yeah, Race, he's the head of the newsies."

The kid's eyes lit with understanding. "Oh, he ain't named Race."

"He's not?" Crutchie asked, surprised that Race would just change his name. It happened occasionally. But it was always difficult to do if the majority of the newsies knew you by something else.

"No, his name is Buck."

"Buck," Crutchie repeated, dubious of the name. Maybe one of the other boys had seen him at the train yard and told Race and this was all an elaborate joke to give Crutchie a hard time.

"Yeah. Come on in," the kid said, leading Crutchie inside. "Buck!" he shouted as Crutchie entered the room. "Buck! Some kid's here to see you! Says he knows you!"

A tall boy, maybe seventeen, stood up from across the room. He had shaggy brown hair that was tucked under a faded cap and piercing blue eyes. "I don't know him," the boy said, making his way across the room.

"You ain't Race," Crutchie said, the confusion evident in his voice and on his face.

"No, I ain't. The name's Buck. Who're you?" the boy said, distrust layered on his words.

Crutchie straightened his shoulders. "I'm Crutchie. I used to be one of the newsies here. I'd really like to talk to Race."

"Race ain't here no more," Buck said, crossing his arms across his chest. " _I'm_ the leader, so you go through me. Now, whaddya want?"

"I was lookin' to see if I could get a job here, selling papes again."

Buck looked Crutchie up and down, eyes lingering on the crutch and the twisted limb just as Crutchie knew he would. It was always the same with newsies he didn't know; they'd judge his leg and decide whether he'd be worth the trouble of taking on. "How old are ya, kid?"

Crutchie hesitated only a brief moment before answering, "I'm fourteen." In the business of selling papes, it was important to be young because the kids could make a killing by simply batting their eyes or pushing out their bottom lip and letting it tremble just the slightest.

Buck's eyes immediately flicked from Crutchie's leg to make eye contact with the crippled boy. "Liar. I don't take kindly to kids that lie to me. Now, how old are ya? And be honest this time."

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, Crutchie finally admitted, "I'm sixteen. But, I'm great at selling papes. Ask any of the boys who knew me." Crutchie's eyes darted around the room, trying to find a familiar face. But every boy looking back at him was one he didn't recognize. That was very peculiar; it had barely been two full months and already the entire hierarchy of newsies had been overthrown and changed.

"Sixteen…" Buck muttered thoughtfully, walking slowly around Crutchie and examining the boy. "See, here's the problem, crip, I've already got a perfectly good cripple and he's much younger than you."

"I don't see anyone—" Crutchie began, but was interrupted by a small ten year old kid.

"That'd be me," the kid said, walking across the room to grab an unused crutch leaning against a wall. He situated the rod under his shoulder and started limping exaggeratingly over to where Crutchie and Buck were. "A penny for a pape, sir?" he whimpered.

Crutchie was outraged. "He ain't real! Ya—ya can't just—"

Buck shrugged. "Look, if Benny, here, sells the papes, that's all that matters. I don't care how he does it so long as it gets done. And, I hate to break it to you, but Benny will sell more papes than you, even on his bad days. You're just too old. Move along."

"I—" Crutchie began, but Buck cut him off with a fierce look.

"I _said,_ move along, crip." The final word was practically spat out and coupled with a significant look at Crutchie's bad leg.

Crutchie straightened his shoulders, not allowing the rude leader of the Manhattan newsies to see just how hard of a blow this was to him. This was the plan. This was the only plan. Crutchie hadn't even considered what he'd do if he wasn't able to fall back into the habit of being a newsie. He had just assumed that Race would still be in charge and that they'd all invite him back with open arms and he'd be back at his familiar street corner, papes in hand, smile pasted on his face, and all memories of Jack and the Holloways and Santa Fe pushed as far into the empty recesses of his mind as possible.

But, no. Crutchie didn't fit in there anymore, wasn't allowed even a chance at selling papes again.

Crutchie stepped down the stairs that led up to the Lodging House, shivering against the start of the New York winter. Suddenly, the brisk November air wasn't magical or beautiful. It was just cold and cruel. There were limited options for a sixteen year old boy with no friends, no family, on the cold and unforgiving New York streets. The obvious place, the only place Crutchie had even considered, was the Manhattan newsies Lodging House. But, that wasn't an option anymore.

There were other newsies around New York that Crutchie could try joining. The only problem being that he didn't know any of the other leaders and odds were good that each of the different sections had their own crip that was younger than Crutchie. Unfortunately, Crutchie knew that it was dangerous to take on too many crips because passersby might start doubting the reality of each crip. That would be dangerous for the fakers and be painful for Crutchie, who had had his crutch ripped away and been shoved to the ground way too often, before the attacker realized he was, in fact, real. And, unless, Crutchie knew the head of that particular group of newsies, he doubted that any of them would take him in and risk their own crips, real or fake.

Spot, though. Crutchie knew Spot. He might allow Crutchie to join the ranks of Brooklyn, if Crutchie asked. However, Crutchie knew that hell would freeze over before Brooklyn became his home. Spot would probably enjoy watching Crutchie shiver and starve out on the streets, probably get a kick out of watching the crippled boy beg for scraps on the corner of the street. No, Brooklyn wasn't an option after everything that had happened before Jack and Crutchie had left to Santa Fe.

It was right after the strike had ended and they had won and Crutchie had just gotten out of the Refuge, sending Snyder to jail. Jack had pulled Crutchie into a tight hug, the two boys beyond glad to see the other healthy and safe. And then Jack had turned to Katherine and kissed her and everyone had been cheering. Except, not Spot. No, Spot had come up to Jack afterwards and informed the older boy that he had better keep his distance from Katherine. Jack had taken offense and the two leaders had almost gotten into a fist fight, but Crutchie interrupted them.

"Jack. Spot. Come on, we just won. Let's just put whatever this is behind us," Crutchie had suggested.

Spot had turned toward the crippled boy, his eyes smoldering with fresh anger. "You don't understand, Crutchie. Jack, here, is going to mess up everything we've worked for on this strike."

"What're ya talking 'bout?" Jack had shot back. "You just jealous I got Katherine?"

"Jealous?" Spot had sputtered. "Hell, no. I don't care about that she-witch, but you're not thinking." Spot had turned away, muttering, "Not that you have much of a brain to begin with."

"Hey!" Jack had shouted, swinging before Crutchie could stop him and grinning when his fist connected solidly with Spot's jaw. "Don't talk about Katherine that way."

Spot had turned back, wiping his bruised jaw with a tense fist. "You want to settle this, fist to fist?"

"Jack," Crutchie had warned. Everyone knew that Spot was more like a hell-bitten cat than a man in a fight. The Brooklyn leader would fight nasty if he felt like he needed to.

"Maybe I do," Jack had challenged.

Spot had glanced at Crutchie. "He doesn't want you to. Look, Jack, you shouldn't date Katherine 'cuz she isn't of the same class. She's going to drag you off and Manhattan will be defenseless and fall apart. Which will give Pulitzer and Hearst the idea that they can raise the prices again because you're all distracted with a woman that smells like diamonds and roses. That'll leave all the newsies ripe for attack and I can't do that to Brooklyn, so you back off from that girl."

"That won't happen," Jack had replied confidently. "I'm a newsie, through and through."

Spot had laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "She's either gonna drag you away or break your heart and you'll drag yourself away. And if that happens, you ain't allowed in Brooklyn territory if you want to keep your innards inside."

"That a threat?" Jack had challenged.

"I believe it is."

"Look, guys," Crutchie had interrupted. "We don't have to—"

"And whose side are you on?" Spot had suddenly asked, his cold green eyes fixing on Crutchie. "You got one choice, Crutchie, make sure it's the right one."

Crutchie had shrugged; there hadn't even been a choice. Not really. "Jack can handle himself. He knows what he's doing. I trust him."

Spot had scoffed, half-turning. "You're an idiot. And don't you ever show your dirty mug in Brooklyn, crip."

"Don't call him that!" Jack had shot back, balling his hands into fists and preparing for a fists.

Spot had glanced at Jack's fists, before turning away. "No, we don't need to fight. I think we got all this settled." He had smirked, the motion soft, triumphant. "Good luck with that woman of yours," had been his parting words.

Jack and Crutchie had never seen the boy again. After everything had gone down with Katherine, Jack had wanted to go straight to Santa Fe. So, they had. But, Crutchie had been unable to forget Spot's words. He had been right.

Crutchie had made his decision back then—and he wouldn't change it, even if he could. Jack was his friend and he'd stand by Jack for whatever Jack needed him to do. But, it sorely limited his options of survival now. There was no way Crutchie could go to Brooklyn. Spot wouldn't have forgotten and there was no chance in hell that he'd forgive. That wasn't Spot.

There was Davey, Crutchie realized. Davey had been better friends with Jack, sure, but Crutchie felt as if Davey would still be willing to provide a place to stay, just until he was able to figure everything out and get his feet back under him. And, hopefully, Davey would recognize not to ask questions about Jack. Of course, initially he would ask about Jack, but Crutchie could just shake his head and Davey would understand and he'd be kind about it; he wouldn't dig at Crutchie's painful memories.

Maybe Davey was the solution to this whole mistake.

And then, Crutchie remembered Les.

He loved the younger boy, but he knew that Les wouldn't possess the tact that Davey had. No, Les would ask about Jack and he wouldn't stop wheedling Crutchie until he got the answers he wanted, the answers Crutchie just wanted to forget. Les would just want to hear about Jack, his hero, and Crutchie didn't think he could bear that.

Davey was no longer an option. He'd have to find somewhere else to go.

There was Irving Hall. Crutchie could probably go see if Medda Larkin had a spare room he could sleep in. He could probably help with sets or costumes or whatever Medda needed him to do. That was somewhere Crutchie could maybe even earn his keep. But, deep down, Crutchie knew that he couldn't go there. Medda would expect Jack, would ask for Jack. Irving Hall was Jack's hide-out and everything there would remind Crutchie of the times he would find Jack backstage, painting Santa Fe. Jack would always glance up at Crutchie, grin softly, before going back to spreading pastel colors across a large canvas. He'd spin tales about Santa Fe, Crutchie sitting beside him, mesmerized with quick, sure strokes of the brush and the world that came to life on the canvas. There had been a certain magic back there, where a world would blossom out of a paintbrush and a few well-chosen words.

No, Crutchie couldn't go to Irving Hall. It would bring up too many memories and Medda would only wish that Jack was there in Crutchie's stead.

There was one last person Crutchie could try going to: Katherine. Crutchie had no idea what she would do if her ex-boyfriend's best friend showed up hoping for a place to stay the night. She'd probably slam the door on him. Well, no, maybe not, Crutchie decided. But, it would still be so very unbelievably awkward. Crutchie had no idea what he'd say. "Hey, remember me? Jack's friend? Well, I'm back in New York and I don't have anywhere to stay and I'm worried I'm going to starve and die and would you mind if I just stayed the night here? Oh, yeah, I remember when you guys got in that fight, but I was hoping you'd still let me sleep somewhere warm, just for one night. No, Jack's not here. He's still back in Santa Fe living the life he always wanted. Nope, not me. Didn't belong on a palomino. So, now I'm here in New York and looking for a place to stay."

Yeah. That conversation would go swimmingly.

Crutchie shook off the option of going to Katherine before it could even truly take hold. The awkwardness involved there would be palpable and Crutchie didn't have the strength to cut through whatever tension would be present in any conversation involving Katherine Pulitzer. No, he'd have to find somewhere else.

Not that he had anywhere else. Crutchie was loathe to admit it, always hated admitting defeat, but he really didn't have any other options. All that was left was returning to Santa Fe and Crutchie knew he couldn't do that. He had burned that bridge and he didn't think the Holloways would appreciate him rebuilding and crossing over into their life. He'd probably just manage to screw that up somehow.

Crutchie tried to laugh at his pitiable situation, but it came out sounding more like a shuddering sob. He didn't fit in over in Santa Fe and now Crutchie was discovering he didn't fit in anywhere in New York. He was an extraneous piece that was discarded, tossed aside and stepped on, ignored and forgotten. Crutchie shook his head, trying to grin but finding it increasingly difficult to pull the corners of his mouth up. It didn't matter. He'd find a way. He always did. He'd—

Oh, god, he was going to starve to death. There was no way he'd be able to survive. Sure, Crutchie could try begging, but he knew from first-hand experience just how many people would pass by him without a second glance. And that was when he was still just a child and could inspire more pity than his age would now.

Crutchie slowly made his way to a bench, having crossed through most of Manhattan while he examined all his options of survival. Maybe he'd just sit here for… for forever. He had nowhere to go. Just this park bench. Crutchie sunk down on it slowly, the crushing knowledge of defeat weighing heavily on his thoughts. Oh, he had truly, truly screwed up this time. Crutchie allowed his eyes to slide shut, ignoring the icy wind that bit through his thin jacket. Maybe later he'd get up and try to find somewhere. Maybe…

Maybe.

* * *

 **Reviews are always appreciated. I respond to everyone and it always makes my day to hear what people think, or what their favorite line was. Have a fantastic week!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello, everyone! I hope this week is treating you fantastically. It's midterms time, which is always super fun, but I've still got my chapters for this week. Anyway, here's the next chapter in Riding Palominos-and, wow, this story is super long. So, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review any of the chapters! I respond to everyone, so sometimes there are really interesting conversations about characterization, which is honestly my favorite part of this story.**

 **To Mara May: Of course you've been noticed! I love all my reviewers. And I'm sure Crutchie would love some waffles. And, hey, he's already run to New York. Who's to say that he can't run somewhere else? Especially if waffles are on the line. Thank you!**

 **To the rest of my ostriches: I hope you enjoy this chapter and read on!**

* * *

Crutchie had no idea how long he sat there, eyes closed, just trying to pull himself together and get up and climb out of the ditch he had dug himself. He didn't have to stay in New York (except, he was all out of money and he knew it) and nothing could keep him down when he put his mind to it (except, that was what Jack used to tell him and the words only inspired pain and regret instead of hope). He sat there, eyes shut against the cruelty of an oncoming winter that Crutchie couldn't escape because he had foolishly thrown himself into New York with no plan beyond rejoining the newsies. No back-up plan, no second options. Just blind hope and look where that had gotten him. Look where that had always gotten him.

"Don't know if I got lost and ended up in Santa Fe or if you got lost and ended up back in New York."

Crutchie's eyes whipped open, coming face to face with Race's familiar grin. "Race?" Crutchie murmured in surprise, not sure if he could even believe that his old friend was right there in front of him.

"Why are you surprised?" Race asked. "If anyone has that right, it should be me. I thought you and Jack had headed off for Santa Fe for good." Race sat down on the park bench beside Crutchie, nudging him gently with his shoulder. "So, did you make it to Santa Fe? What's it like?"

"Yeah, we made it. There's a lot of dirt and dust. And it's much warmer there."

Race sat up quickly, taking in Crutchie's thin jacket and the way the younger boy held his arms close to his torso in order to retain what little warmth his body was generating. "Where's your coat, kid?"

Crutchie shrugged. "Gave it to Buttons before I left. Didn't think I'd be coming back."

"And Jack's letting you run around in this weather dressed like that?" Crutchie's uncomfortable silence was answer enough and Race simply shook his head. "Does he even know you're in New York?" Race asked softly.

"I had to leave," Crutchie whispered. "I was messing it all up."

"Damn," Race muttered, before asking, "You got a place to stay?"

"Look, Race, I'm fine," Crutchie began, waving the older boy off.

Race wasn't going to be brushed away so easily, though. "You got a place to stay?" he repeated, more insistent.

"Technically, no, but I'm working on it," Crutchie promised.

"You'se sittin' here with your eyes closed."

"I was thinking!" Crutchie protested.

"Well, how 'bout you do your 'thinking' back at my place. It ain't much, but it's got a roof and a stove so it ain't too cold. You up for some crappy coffee? I can make crappy coffee."

"Race, I really don't—"

"Shut up, Crutch," Race said, standing up. "I want to hear about your adventures in Santa Fe and it's too cold out here. If not for you, then it is at least for me. Plus, I'm obligated to take you inside. If you sat out here in the cold and caught your death, Jack would skin me alive. And don't think he's not going to figure out you came here and come runnin' after. I ain't risking my life, so I ain't risking yours."

Crutchie stared at Race, shaking his head slowly. "No, Jack won't come back. He hates it here and—and, he has it made out in Santa Fe."

Race rolled his eyes. "Okay, how 'bout this. You come back to my place and tell me everything that happened and then we get to make a bet on if Jack is coming out here or not. That sound good enough for you, kid?"

"If it's too much of a bother—"

"It's not."

"—then you don't have to do this."

Race gave up trying to talk Crutchie into coming and finally reached over and pulled the younger boy to his feet. "Crutch, your hands are frozen!" Race exclaimed, pulling his own hand away and rubbing it to restore the warmth. "At least come back with me, unthaw, and then you can go back to your park bench and be all gloomy and whatever."

Crutchie recognized that Race wasn't going to give up, even if the older boy was forced to carry the younger one home, so Crutchie simply relented. "Okay, just for an hour. Then I really need to find somewhere to spend the night while there's still daylight."

"You're an idiot. You know that, right?" Race commented, leading Crutchie down the road to the small tenement he now called home.

As Race led Crutchie up the stairs to his own small, dingy apartment, Crutchie couldn't help but ask, "So, why aren't you a newsie anymore?"

Race shrugged. "I was getting too old. And I had just turned eighteen, so I got myself a job at a factory down the street and that pays the bills. Barely, but I ain't no Pulitzer and I don't need no gold plated toilets or nothing like that. Now I live here. Davey stopped by once to say 'hi,' but I don't think he was a fan of the conditions. Hasn't dropped by since. So, don't expect anything special, but it is mine and you're free to stay here as long as you need to."

"Just an hour. Just to catch up," Crutchie reassured Race.

"Unbelievable," Race muttered, rolling his eyes.

Race pulled open the door, revealing a small room with a thin mattress shoved into a corner. There was a stove across from the mattress, but other than that, there were no other furnishings beyond a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. "Home sweet home," he announced, letting Crutchie in.

"It's nicer than you led me to believe," Crutchie remarked, examining the room.

Race barked out a laugh. "That's one way to put it. Look, I know it's crap, but it's my crap. Now, you're the guest, so you get the mattress." When Crutchie stuttered out a refusal, Race quickly cut him off. "Sit, kid. Sit and get warm and tell me all about Santa Fe and how you supposedly screwed everything up."

"Not supposedly," Crutchie corrected. "I—" he laughed, the sound somewhat wet from holding back tears. "I had one chance and I just blew it."

When Crutchie didn't move to elaborate, Race shot him a significant look. "Well, don't stop there! Tell me what happened. You can't just start a story with that and then just stop. It ain't fair."

Crutchie grinned slightly. He had missed Race. He had missed all the newsies and the friendly banter that had existed between them all. "If you insist—"

"And I do!"

"—I'll tell you what happened in Santa Fe."

"Well, go on," Race said, motioning for his friend to sit down on the thin mattress and continue.

"Okay, fine, but it's a long story."

"I ain't got anywhere to be," Race pointed out, settling himself on the floor and leaning his back up against the wall opposite Crutchie.

Crutchie fiddled with his crutch, positioning it and repositioning it before beginning. "It's all my fault, you know. Or you will after I tell you everything. It—I guess it started when we got on the train to leave New York…" He started out slow, parts of the story stuttered and interspersed with apologies and self-derogatory comments. But, as Crutchie began to grow more comfortable in Race's familiar presence and the heat from the stove—Crutchie would never tell Race, but he had been freezing out there and was quite thankful to have a warm refuge, if only for an hour; although, he did suspect that Race already knew this—his tale began to be recounted with more confidence and less interruptions. "And so, I bought a ticket for the next train back east and well, here I am. I tried to get back in with the Manhattan newsies, but they wouldn't take me. I don't have anywhere else to go." Crutchie glanced up, noticing Race's raised eyebrows at the last statement and Crutchie quickly amended, "Yet. I don't have anywhere else to go, _yet_. I've still got some other friends to try and…" Crutchie trailed off, knowing that Race wouldn't believe a word he said anyway. "So, yeah, now you know. Jack has it made with the Holloways. He's got a family now." Quietly, Crutchie added, "Probably won't even notice I'm gone…"

"Well, Crutchie, after listening to everything that has happened to you since you guys left, I have to say that I am inclined to disagree."

"What?" Crutchie asked, his eyes shooting up from the ground he had found intense interest in as soon as Race began to pass his judgement. "But—"

"But what? Nothing that happened was your fault." Before Crutchie could point out some particular instances where he certainly felt as if it was his fault, Race continued, "What, the part where you were back-talking the bank robber and got, uh, Claude, I think you said his name was, shot? You probably saved Jack's life. That gave him the opportunity to break free from the robber."

"But—"

"And the fact that they had to take a second loan or whatever? That just happens. That wasn't you. And don't give me that crap that you need to be out working and helping them. If they wanted you to be doing that, they would have told you so. Or kicked you out." Race laughed harshly, the sound bitter and sardonic. "Crutch, you found yourself a real family. A real family that actually cared about you and you ran. It's what all of us would have given our right arm for and you ran away."

Crutchie stared at Race. He wasn't—Race couldn't be right. The Holloways didn't want him. He was messing it all up; this was Crutchie's penance and he was going to make everything right again by staying away, in New York. "You wouldn't know. You don't know the Holloways."

"No, I don't," Race admitted. "But I think I've got a pretty good idea of what that family is like from your story and they were adopting you. I mean, maybe not legally, but they were taking you and Jack in. Like their own sons."

"You don't understand. I never really—"

"Look, Crutchie, I ain't gonna argue about this with you because that's all this is going to be. An argument. So, instead, how about I fix up some crappy coffee and… and beans! I can warm up some beans. Crutchie, you just lay down; you look exhausted. I'll tell you when everything's ready."

"Race, you don't gotta—"

"You are my guest in my house, so you will kindly shut up and let me fix you a warm meal before you're back out on the streets."

Crutchie smiled softly. "Fine. Just until it's ready." Crutchie settled into the mattress, pillowing his head under his hands. It was sorta nice to just close his eyes and listen to Race move around the small room, mumbling incoherently under his breath. It was comforting, almost relaxing. Crutchie was asleep before he could even recognize that he was tired.

* * *

It was one of those mornings where every limb feels leaden and eyelids heavy. Crutchie didn't want to move, just wanted to lay here on this mattress forever. But, he knew that, any second, the bell would ring and Jack would shake him fully awake and they'd be out on the streets selling papes, so he might as well start getting up.

No, wait. That wasn't right. Crutchie wasn't on Jack's rooftop. He was back in Santa Fe, with the Holloways, sharing a room with JT. Any second JT would call for Crutchie to get out of bed and get some breakfast. And Crutchie would sit at the breakfast table and try not to feel so guilty about causing the Holloways to need to take out a second loan.

That wasn't right, either. With a start, Crutchie sat up with a jerk, taking in his surroundings. To his right, Race was sprawled out on the floor, reading a book. The older boy glanced up from the dog-eared pages at Crutchie's sudden movement. "Ah. I was wondering when you were going to get up. You snore."

Crutchie merely blinked at Race, trying to recall how he had ended up here. "I—I snore?" Crutchie asked, sorting through his memory for the answers.

"Yeah, like a train leaving the station," Race snorted.

Suddenly, it all came back, a wave of painful memories. He had left Santa Fe, had run back to New York and, as of yet, nothing good had come out of that choice. Crutchie hadn't been allowed to return to the Manhattan newsies' Lodging House, he couldn't go to Brooklyn or Irving Hall, and asking Katherine for help was very much out of the question. So, he was here with Race for a while, but he really needed to get going and find somewhere to stay for the night. "What time is it?" Crutchie croaked out, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Late."

"Crap," Crutchie muttered. "Thanks for everything, Race, but I've really got to get going if I'm going to—"

Race glanced up at Crutchie, before turning back to his book and flipping a page. "I've got some bad news for ya, kid."

"What?"

Race didn't bother looking up as he announced, "It started snowing while you were asleep. The first snow of the season." Race finally made eye contact with the younger boy, grinning. "And like hell I'm letting you out there in that weather. So, you can just make yourself comfortable and enjoy my company."

"S-snowing?" Crutchie stuttered. It had been colder earlier that day and, sure, the sky had been gray, but he hadn't thought it was going to go as far as snow. Crutchie silently cursed the weather, hating that it had ruined his perfect plan to get out of Race's hair. He generally loved the snow, but at the moment, he was a little perturbed that the weather had singlehandedly forced Race to continue his role as gracious host.

"What? Your leg didn't tell you?" Race clucked his tongue, turning back to the book. "I hate to tell ya this, but maybe you do belong in Santa Fe. You can't sell papes, your leg won't tell the weather. Gosh, it sure looks like you're useless out here in Manhattan."

"Race," Crutchie began, intent on trying to convince Race to let him out so that he could handle the mess he had been the sole creator of by himself. Race, however, didn't give Crutchie the chance to find the right words.

Race's eyes jerked up from the page and he quickly sat up. "Oh, yeah. You'se probably wanting some dinner. I warmed everything up, but then you fell asleep, so it's probably all cold again. You okay with that? I don't really want to go through all that trouble again just to have you pass out halfway through."

"Uh, sure," Crutchie relented, knowing that Race wasn't going to back down from being the gracious host he had decided upon being.

"Great," Race said, pulling himself to his feet. He grabbed two plates of beans from the stove and handed one to Crutchie, putting the second on the ground near his book. He also poured out the coffee for both boys. "See, this is supposed to be the type of thing cowboys eat," Race said proudly. "Wanted you to still feel at home here." Race took a bite of his beans before commenting, "It's a pity you left that cowboy hat back in Santa Fe. I would've liked to see it on ya." He snorted softly, before suggesting, "Maybe Jack will bring it when he comes out here."

"He won't," Crutchie muttered, taking a sip of the coffee. Wow. Race was correct about one thing. It was crappy coffee. "Even if he wanted to, the Holloways wouldn't let him. They really need him out on the ranch right now. And everything he ever wanted is out there in Santa Fe. I wasn't ever part of that dream."

Race just shrugged, sipping at his own coffee. "Well, we shall see. It was quite the adventure you had, though. You have to admit to that. Bank robberies and scarlet fever and riding horses. New York doesn't have those. Well, I mean, we got scarlet fever and bank robberies, I assume. And some people ride horses. But, it ain't the same, if you follow."

"Not really."

"I always teased Jack about Santa Fe, but the kid was right. Dreams have a much better chance of coming true out there than they do in New York. Here, you're born someplace and you never get the chance to crawl out and up. It just doesn't work like that. But, in Santa Fe you can wrestle a life from the land."

"If you've got all four working limbs," Crutchie corrected, gesturing at his twisted limb bitterly.

Race shook his head. "Nah, I don't think that's a requirement. See, it wasn't just Jack making a new life for himself out there, you was, too. You weren't workin' the land and whatever like Jack was, but you had moved up beyond what you were here. You was going to school, you had a warm place to sleep and plenty of food, and you had a family. Or good friends, if you're still hesitant to admit the truth. And whaddya got here? No job. No schooling. Just me and my crappy food."

Crutchie swallowed his bite of beans thickly. What Race was saying was making a little too much sense and Crutchie was suddenly very afraid that he had made the wrong choice. And if he had made the wrong choice, there was no way Crutchie could return. He didn't have the money to begin with and he was too afraid that the Holloways would turn him away, consider him some stray cat that always showed back up, unwanted. "Well, it's too late now," Crutchie whispered, focusing on the plate of food in front of him. He had made his choice and now he'd have to live with it. That was how life worked. You didn't get second chances. When you messed up in New York, you died. It was simple as that.

"Sure, it is, kid," Race muttered sarcastically. "I thought you was supposed to be the optimistic one?"

"Fine, what should I be optimistic about? You—you might actually be right—"

"Shocker," Race interrupted sarcastically.

"—and now I'm stuck here and there's nothing I can do about that. Nothing. Do you get that?" Crutchie continued, his voice growing more bitter and he colored his words with the bright anger he was feeling towards himself. "I'm stuck out here for… for forever! What am I supposed to be happy about now that I'se ruined my chance with the one family I'd ever get? Hooray, I get to spend time with Race!" Crutchie said, the last phrase spittingly sarcastic as he inwardly berated himself for being so stupid.

"Yes, you get to spend time with me and you should be happy 'bout that because I'm the one who pointed out the truth to ya. So, why don't you get to bed after you'se done with those beans and then we make a plan tomorrow on how to getcha back to Santa Fe. Okay? Just get some sleep—because, kid, you really need more than that one nap—and then tomorrow morning, when you get up, it'll all be better. We'll figure out a way to get you back, yeah?"

Crutchie stared at Race, deflating somewhat. "I'm sorry, Race."

"I know. But, we'se gonna get you back there. So, get some more sleep. Everything will be better tomorrow." Race glanced up at the side of the room, wishing he had a window and that they could see the snow drifting slowly down in the moonlight. "You know what they say about the first snow of the season? It's a sign of good luck."

* * *

 **So, if you can't tell, I'm super partial to Race. He ain't Crutchie or Jack, but, man, I love that kid so much. Next week we actually get to see Jack's point of view, so that will be fun! Please review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**And a happy Wednesday to y'all! I honestly can't believe all the support I've been getting for this story. We've got about four chapters left, which is crazy short (compared to how long this has been going on). So, wow, thank you all. You guys are fantastic and it literally makes my day when people leave a review. Anyway, enough about me and more about Jack.**

* * *

Jack stared at the dish of gravy in front of him. Sue had whipped up some biscuits and gravy quickly, but had left to go help Claude. He couldn't believe that Crutchie and he had gotten into a fight the night earlier. Jack still didn't understand what had happened, what he had said that had bothered Crutchie so much. Throughout the night, he had gone over each boy's words, but couldn't find anything that seemed especially offensive that would have made Crutchie so mad. It just didn't make sense. Well, as soon as Crutchie came out for breakfast, Jack would make sure that whatever had happened last night was over.

At the sound of someone coming into the dining room, Jack looked up, expecting Crutchie. It wasn't Crutchie, but JT, who came in. The young redhead scanned the table, taking in Syd, Jessie, and Jack. "No. No, no, no," he muttered, immediately turning back down the hallway. Which was definitely strange.

Syd immediately called out, "Are you doing okay, JT?"

JT poked his head around the hallway, glancing into the room at the three people seated at the table. "Uh, I'm fine. Just—uh, this is a strange question, but um—don't really know how to word it… Jack, did—uh, did Crutchie sleep in your room last night?"

"What do you mean?" Jack asked slowly, not sure exactly where JT was leading with the question, but not having a good feeling about it regardless.

"Oh, nothing, really. Just—uh, did he?"

"No."

JT nodded. "I, uh, thought so. Um… Just give me a moment."

JT disappeared once more, leaving the two Holloway children and Jack even more confused than they had been before. Syd glanced at Jack. "Do you know what's going on?"

Jack shook his head. "No clue."

It was only a few minutes later, when JT returned, sitting down at the table. The boy was quiet, ignoring the stares he was receiving from the three other people seated at the table. Finally, Syd broke the silence, recognizing that his younger brother wasn't willing to talk, for one reason or another. "Do you mind telling us what that was all about?"

JT sighed, focusing on the table and not making eye contact with anyone. "He's gone," was all JT said, his voice small and defeated.

"Who's gone?" Syd asked.

Jack felt his heart drop uncomfortably. JT couldn't be talking about—There was just no possible way that Crutchie would have… Beside him, Jessie stiffened and Jack knew that she had reached the same conclusion as him.

JT finally looked up, glancing at Jack only briefly, before addressing Syd. "Crutchie. He… He must've left last night. I looked everywhere, all of the rooms. But, all his stuff's gone, except… He left his Stetson on the bed."

Everyone was silent for a moment, before Jack began to laugh, the sound harsh and wrong in the quiet of the Holloway siblings. "So, it's a joke. It's payback for what I said last night." Jack laughed once more, before shouting, "Crutchie! It's not even funny!"

JT watched Jack with wide eyes. "It's not a joke," he said softly. "I can't find him; he left."

Jack shook his head. "He wouldn't just—Where would he go? This is his home." _I'm his family_.

"Maybe back to New York?" JT suggested, shrugging. When Jack looked up in surprise, JT expounded, "We were talking about places we'd like to go to one day and Crutchie's answer was New York and I didn't think he was serious about it—he just said he'd want to visit his old friends—but maybe he was serious and just didn't want to…to be brothers anymore."

JT's words stung Jack more than JT ever would have intended. He and Crutchie hadn't ever really fought before. Argued a bit and teased each other endlessly, but last night… That had been a fight and maybe JT's words held more truth than expected. Maybe Crutchie didn't want to be Jack's brother anymore.

Jack stared at the table for only a moment, before shoving his chair back and leaving the room. Crutchie wouldn't just leave. Did he even have money to spot his train fare back East? Or food to sustain that journey? It was about four days long and did Crutchie even remember that? He stopped in the doorway of JT and Crutchie's shared room, staring at the lonely Stetson hat that rested in the center of the bed. Jack's chest felt constricted and he was having trouble breathing for a scarily long moment.

JT's voice jerked Jack out of his thoughts. "I told you…" the young redhead whispered. "Didn't even take his hat. And he loved that hat."

"I'm going after him," Jack said softly, straightening his shoulders.

"B-but, Jack—" JT began.

Jack ignored the younger boy, heading to his room. He quickly began packing his stuff because he didn't know if he'd ever be returning. Jack would love to live with the Holloways and enjoyed the ranch work, but Crutchie was his family and where Crutchie was would be where his home was. That's how it worked. You found a family and you stuck with it. Jack gathered his things up and turned to the door, finding his exit blocked by Claude.

"What are you doing, Jack?"

"I'm sorry, but I need to go find Crutchie. Thank you for everything you and your family has done for me and Crutchie. I really enjoyed living here, but Crutchie is my brother. He's the only family I got and I need to go find him." Jack glanced up at Claude sheepishly, somewhat embarrassed he was just cutting out on the Holloway family.

Claude placed a comforting hand on Jack's shoulder. "No, Crutchie isn't the only family you've got. Come back to the dining room and we'll figure out what we're going to do to bring Crutchie home over a warm breakfast."

"You really don't need—"

"Crutchie is our son just as much as you are. Besides, you don't really want to be traveling all the way back East on an empty stomach, do you?"

The pair returned to the dining room, where everyone was seated. Syd and Jessie were eating, but JT was only picking at his food, his shoulders slumped and his head down. Sue looked up at Jack when he came in, quickly pulling the seventeen-year-old into a hug. "We'll bring him home. Don't you worry," she reassured him.

After Jack was seated and he was dished some of the biscuits and gravy—not that he felt he could eat very much—Claude asked, "Are you sure he went back to New York?"

Jack nodded. "It's the only other place he's ever known. And from what JT was saying, I think he missed it."

"Does he have a family there that he may have returned to?" Claude asked.

"Uh, no," Jack began, unsure of what he should tell the Holloways. It wasn't his story to tell, but Jack felt as if the Holloways needed to understand why it was so important for Jack to find Crutchie, why they depended on each other so much. "When Crutchie was four or five, his father died. I don't know how. I don't know if Crutchie doesn't remember or if he just didn't want to tell me, but his father died and, shortly after, Crutchie got polio. His mother… She wasn't good to him, especially after he was left crippled. I—I think she beat him a bit. I don't really know; Crutchie didn't tell me everything." Jack fell silent, recalling dark nights where Jack would wake up to Crutchie trying to hide his broken sobs in his pillow. There had been too many, _too many_ , nights that Jack would listen as Crutchie stuttered out nightmarish memories as Jack held him close and reminded him that that was all over now. That he had a brother and he didn't need to worry about his original family any more. Blinking away heavy memories, Jack continued, "And, and after a couple years, she just kicked him out of the house. In the winter. I managed to find him, probably a few months after that. He was—I took him back to the Lodging House and he became a newsie. And we haven't left each other's side since. We're—we're brothers." Jack shrugged awkwardly. "So, no, he doesn't have a family in the traditional sense. He has me. And the other newsies. I'm pretty sure that's where he'd head upon returning to New York."

"How could a mother do that to their own child?" Sue whispered, the shock evident in her voice. "Oh, Crutchie."

Claude glanced at his wife before turning back to Jack. "Well, that settles it. You and I," he said, addressing Jack, "will be heading off to New York on the next train. We'll find Crutchie and bring him home."

"You don't have to," Jack quickly said. "He's my brother."

"He's our son," Claude said gently. "As are you. I'm not letting you go out there on your own."

Jack laughed softly. It had been years, over a decade, since he had ever had anyone say something like that and the thought that Jack had finally found a family for him and Crutchie left him somewhat speechless. "I—thank you. Just, thank you."

"Now, if you'll finish your breakfast, we can go catch a train."

"I'm coming, too." Everyone turned to look at JT, who had sat up somewhat. The redhead nodded authoritatively and elaborated, "Crutchie's my brother and I want to go find him, too."

"JT," Sue began, but JT would hear none of it.

"No, ma, if Jack gets to go, then I do too." When Sue still didn't seem to be relenting in favor of her son, JT turned to his father, "Please, pa? Let me come?"

Claude looked across the table at Sue, his eyebrow raised. Sue eventually sighed. "Fine, JT. But, you make sure your father doesn't strain his arm and that Crutchie comes home safe and sound."

JT nodded, taking his responsibilities seriously. "Of course, ma. I won't let you down."

"I'll pack the three of you some food for the journey," Sue said, standing up. "I sure hope Crutchie thought to bring something when he left…" she muttered as she left the dining room to go put together a few meals.

Claude turned his attention to Syd and Jessie. "While I'm gone, you will have to take extra care of the ranch. Maybe hire Gabriel on for a week or so. We'll be gone for a while; it's a four day train ride each way, not to mention that we still need to actually find that boy. Be careful and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Syd nodded and Jessie assented, "Of course, pa."

Sue re-entered the room with brown paper bags of loaves of bread, fruit, and jerky. "Be safe," she said, kissing Claude's cheek. "And bring our boy home."

* * *

Jack, Claude, and JT stepped off the train, their shoes crunching on the fresh snow from the night before. "See, they already got snow," JT exclaimed, kicking at a pile of it and flinging the white powder up into the air. "We get snow, too," JT told Jack, "Just not 'til later. Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, it'll snow on my birthday. Not often, but sometimes." He had been entrusted with the important duty of carrying Crutchie's beloved Stetson to the runaway boy. JT had taken his calling upon him with the utmost seriousness and had kept the hat within arm's reach for the entire train ride.

"Where are we starting?" Claude asked, scanning the people at the train yard on the off-chance that Crutchie happened to be in the ever-moving crowd.

"He's going to be at the Lodging House," Jack said, pressing through the crowd. Claude and JT followed closely behind, glad that someone knew their way around the city.

Jack glanced up at the gray buildings dark against the gray sky. He hadn't expected to ever return to New York again. And here he was again, shoving against people who took no notice of him, didn't care if he lived or died the next day. Jack breathed in the sour air, missing the clear skies that arched over Santa Fe. Well, he wouldn't be here long. He'd find Crutchie, talk some sense into the kid, and then take him back home.

JT skipped up to where Jack was, his eyes wide and his head shooting back and forth to take in all the sights. "It's so big," he breathed. "How do you not get lost all the time?" JT asked.

"I've lived here all my life. It's the same way you don't get lost in Santa Fe."

"Yeah, but Santa Fe is so small. It's hard to get lost there. Here, I might just turn left instead of right and never find my way home!"

Jack smiled briefly. "Well, we've all gotten lost a couple times. It happens. But, once you find a street name you know, you're able to make your way home."

"There are too many street names! How could you ever remember them all?"

"I don't know, JT. We all just did."

Jack trudged forward, his heart beating anxiously as he got closer to the newsies' Lodging House. He was worried that, maybe, Crutchie wouldn't want to come back to Santa Fe. Maybe he didn't want Jack to be his brother anymore, didn't need him to be his brother anymore. And Jack knew that he couldn't force Crutchie to return to Santa Fe if he didn't want to, but that would leave Jack in an awful situation. He'd have to choose between a family and a wonderful life out in Santa Fe and his life-long brother and the oppressive streets of New York. If Jack were completely honest with himself, he didn't know what he would choose and hoped that Crutchie would just want to come back to Santa Fe when he learned that the Holloways wanted him there as one of their own sons.

The Lodging House loomed in front of him, overwhelmingly familiar and strangely distant all at the same time. Jack shook off the strange feeling that he no longer belonged here, that he was a trespassing stranger. With only slight hesitation, Jack knocked on the door. The banging of his fist was stiff and awkward in the silence of Claude and JT, who stood a couple feet back, waiting.

A small boy that Jack didn't recognize opened the door. "Whaddya want?" the kid asked, brushing long brown locks out of his eyes.

"I need to speak to Race. He's the leader."

"Okay, for da last time, his name is Buck," the kid muttered. "You stay here. I'll go get 'im."

The young kid returned with a taller boy that looked to be about Jack's age in tow. The boy, Buck, Jack presumed, had shaggy brown hair and blue eyes that pierced through Jack's soul. "I need to speak with Race," Jack repeated.

"Look, Race ain't here no more. I'm the leader now. And we don't got any openings," Buck said, looking Jack up and down. "Especially for someone your age. Go find work in da factories or somethin'."

"I'm not looking for a job," Jack informed Buck, disliking the boy almost instantly. "I'm looking for a kid."

"What? Lost your baby brother and now your pa back there wants him back?" Buck asked, jerking his chin in Claude's direction. "If a kid don't like their family, they get a new one here and they don't want to come back home, so you can just move along."

"It ain't like that," Jack said, though, maybe it was and maybe Crutchie didn't want to come home. "His name is Crutchie. You seen him?"

Buck's eyes lit with understanding. "What's it to you, whether I know or not?"

"He's my brother."

"Look," Buck drawled, rolling invisible lint between his fingers. "I can't just give out a kid's whereabouts to a stranger. And I don't really believe you'se brothers. You don't look alike and he didn't mention one. So, how're you really related? No, lying, now. I can tell."

"The name's Jack Kelly and Crutchie is my brother," Jack growled.

Buck's eyes jerked up in surprise. "Jack Kelly? _The_ Jack Kelly?"

"Yes, now tell me where Crutchie is or you'se gonna get a fist up your nose," Jack threatened.

"Uh, h-he's not actually here," Buck stuttered.

"What do you mean he's not here?"

Buck shrugged, avoiding eye contact with Jack. "We already had a crip that was younger and we didn't need another one, so I sent him away."

"You sent him away when it was _snowing_?" Jack asked, his voice low and lethal.

"It wasn't snowing, I swear! I didn't think it would snow last night and he might've found somewhere else. He probably wasn't out sleeping in the snow," Buck muttered, his words doubtful.

"Why in the world would you turn him away?"

"If I'd known he was Jack Kelly's brother, I wouldn't've. I swear. He was just some crip and we didn't need one."

Jack glared at Buck. "First off, he ain't just some crip. He's just got a bum leg. Now, did he say where he was headed after you kicked him out?" The words were angry and venomous and Buck could only shake his head. "I cannot believe this," Jack muttered. "Well, if Crutchie comes back, you better get him a nice, warm bed and a blanket and tell him to stay put 'til I come back."

Buck nodded. "Uh, of course, Jack."

Jack had started to make his way down the stairs, but at that, he turned around, fixing Buck with a cold stare. "It's Mr. Kelly to ya."

Buck stuttered something else, but Jack ignored him, returning to where Claude and JT were waiting for him. "Was he there?" JT asked, glancing behind Jack and looking up at where Buck continued to stare at them.

"No, he wasn't," Jack muttered, looking out into the New York streets and avoiding Claude's searching eyes.

Claude softly asked, "Do you have any other idea where he might be?"

Jack stuck his fingers under his armpits, glancing from street to street. If he kept looking, maybe he'd catch a glimpse of Crutchie hobbling past. But, Jack knew that that was just wishful thinking. New York was too big, too convoluted for Jack to ever find one crippled boy. Jack was loath to admit it, but he had lost Crutchie to the city. Quite possibly, for forever. Odds were, he'd never see his brother ever again. "No. No, I don't."

* * *

 **Well... That was a... positive ending... Um, speaking of positive endings, you guys should check out the new one-shot I'm posting tomorrow! It'll be called Frozen and I really like it. Plus, I tried something new with it, so I'd love to see what you think about it. Yep, that's it of my shameless plug. Feel free to leave a review!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Happy Wednesday! I can't believe October's already almost over. This year has gone by way too quickly. It feels like it was only a couple weeks ago that I started this story and it's been months... Kudos to all of you who've been with me for this crazy ride!**

 **And to Mara May: I'm actually the same way. I'm generally not a fan of stories with OCs and then this one came to mind and I discovered I'm a huge hypocrite... But, I'm really glad you love everyone.**

 **Read on, my ostriches!**

* * *

Jack couldn't believe that Crutchie wasn't in the Lodging House. That was where he had expected to find him. And it had been where Crutchie had gone to, before being turned away. So, now Jack had to figure out where Crutchie would head after being sent away. There was, of course, somewhere else he could try, but Jack really didn't look forward to that prospect. Claude and JT were still watching Jack, waiting for an answer better than what Jack had previously supplied. "I mean," Jack began, "there is somewhere else he might've tried."

"Well, then let's get going!" JT said, excitedly. "We can't just waste time standing out here."

"I don't know if you two should come along, where I'm going."

"Why?" Claude asked gently.

Jack shrugged one shoulder. "There might be a fight." When JT turned wide eyes on Jack, he explained a bit further. "Spot Conlon's the leader of Brooklyn. If Crutchie couldn't get into the Manhattan newsies, he might've headed over to Brooklyn. Problem is, last time I talked with Spot, we exchanged some cruel words and I'm not allowed on his turf anymore." Jack rubbed his hand through his hair, tearing anxiously at his scalp with his nails. "I gotta see if Crutchie's there, but you might want to stay on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge, just in case Spot's boys get nasty."

Claude shook his head. "Jack, if it's going to be dangerous for you, I won't let you go."

Jack grinned. "Hey, I'm the infamous Jack Kelly. My name carries weight out here. This used to be my home and I know these boys. I'll do fine."

"Jack," Claude started, but Jack shrugged him off.

"I'll be fine, Claude. It'll just be a conversation. You two just stay in Manhattan. Spot ain't real fond of new people. 'Specially not adults. Sorry, Claude."

It took a little more convincing, but Jack finally got Claude and JT to allow him to cross the Brooklyn Bridge. Jack wouldn't say it out loud, but there was a small pit of nervous tension worming its way through his stomach. It wouldn't be so bad. He was just going to go over, ask Spot for Crutchie, and then make his way home. No harm, no foul. Jack was just about to step onto the Brooklyn side of the bridge, when a boy shouted, "Hey! It's Jack!"

Jack couldn't hold back the grin at the sound of the familiar voice. "Hey, Romeo," Jack greeted as the younger boy skipped up to Jack. "How ya doin'?" he asked, ruffling Romeo's hair. "And what're ya doin' in Brooklyn?"

Romeo shrugged. "After Race left, some nasty kid named Buck took over. No one liked him, so we all separated and went to different areas. Spot took most everyone in. Whatcha doin' back, Jack? You seen Santa Fe?"

"I did."

"Was it as pretty as you always said?"

Jack smiled. "It was. Now, Romeo, I gotta question for you. Have you seen—"

"And if it isn't our old friend, Jackie." A familiar cold voice stopped Jack mid-sentence. He straightened, turning to Spot, who raised an eyebrow in Jack's direction. "What're ya doing in Brooklyn? I thought I laid out some pretty specific consequences if you ever came back."

"I know, Spot, and I wouldn't be here if I didn't really need your help."

"My help?" Spot asked, staring at Jack. "What could I possibly help the great, untouchable Jack Kelly with?" With a cruel grin, Spot continued, "Oh, I know! You need help gettin' back together with Ms. Katherine Pulitzer." Katherine's last name was spit out, the sound venomous and loathed.

"That ain't it. And, Spot, you was right," Jack ground out, the admission costing him more than he cared to admit. "I shoulda just avoided Katherine. But, that ain't the problem anymore."

"You lookin' for a place to sell papes, because this ain't it. Not for you. Not when half your boys are in my ranks."

Jack shook his head. "I don't need to sell papes. I need to find Crutchie."

The sentence caught Spot off guard and the leader of Brooklyn remained silent, his mind processing the idea that Jack had lost the younger boy. Spot fixed Jack with a curious stare, slowly asking, "He ain't with you?"

"No. He ran from Santa Fe; there was a misunderstanding and we got in a fight and he came back here, but he isn't at the Manhattan Lodging House and I was wondering if he joined up with Brooklyn."

"He ain't here," Spot said. "But, I'll have my boys keep an eye out for him." Spot remained silent for a long moment, before adding, "He got anywhere to go?"

Jack shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm a day behind him."

"He was out last night?"

"Probably," Jack admitted.

Spot finally turned away. "I'm sorry, Jack. My boys will look for him, but, after last night…" Jack could tell exactly where Spot's mind had gone and he didn't like the visual that those dark thoughts provided. He could picture Crutchie slumped against a cold park bench, shivering as the snow began to drift down. Jack could see Crutchie's eyes slowly slip closed, the boy curled in on himself to retain what little body warmth he could. He fancied he could even see the small rise and fall of Crutchie's thin chest stop, his final breath a small cloud of air that disappeared into the falling snow; the last sign of life in his brother, gone forever. Jack was pulled out of that vicious picture when Spot sighed, glancing at Jack once more. "You need a place to stay here 'til we find him?"

Jack's eyes jerked up from the ground. That was an unexpected kindness. "No. But, thank you, Spot. I'll be around."

Spot nodded once, before taking his leave. Romeo was left staring at Jack. "You don't think Crutchie is—?" he asked.

"No, of course not. It'd take more than some snow to stop Crutchie," Jack said, ruffling Romeo's hair once more. The words weren't a lie. They couldn't be. If they were- "Now, you take care of yourself, kid."

"Won't I see you around?"

Jack shrugged. "I might be headin' back to Santa Fe."

Romeo nodded. "Okay. Well, then you take care of yourself, too, Jack."

Jack tossed the kid one last smile, before making his way back across the Brooklyn Bridge. Claude and JT were standing there, waiting patiently. At least, on Claude's part. JT was amusing himself by building tiny snowmen and then jumping on them. "Any luck?" Claude asked, drawing JT's attention from his snow creations to Jack.

"Not there," Jack said, trying to keep his voice light. "But, I've got another place we can check: Irving Hall."

"That's where Crutchie got lost that one time and you used to paint!" JT piped up. "Do you think I could meet Medda? She sounds nice."

"If she's there," Jack promised, leading the Holloway pair to where Irving Hall was located. The walk over was riddled with worries. Jack was starting to fear that he wouldn't find Crutchie. That maybe the kid, after being turned away from the Manhattan newsies, had just up and left to who knows where. That fear niggled at the back of his mind, but he forced it down and away, needing to keep up a positive face around Claude and JT.

Jack wasn't sure if he was looking forward to entering Irving Hall. He'd either find Crutchie holed up in some back room with Medda tending to him, or he wouldn't. And the prospect of not finding Crutchie and being back at square one once again terrified Jack. So, it was with some trepidation that Jack knocked at the door. A gangly man with a scraggly goatee answered the door. "Ah, Jack Kelly," the man said, shaking Jack's hand. "I didn't expect to see you. It's been a while, hasn't it."

"Can I speak to Medda?" Jack asked.

"Of course, of course. Come on in and I'll go get her."

Jack waved Claude and JT in after him and they stood in the warm entrance of the building. The usher returned with Medda in tow only a few brief moments later. "Do my old eyes deceive me or is this Jack Kelly?"

"In the flesh," Jack said, allowing himself to be swept into an enveloping hug.

"And who have you brought with you?" Medda asked, curtseying for Claude and JT. JT waved cheerfully at her.

"This is Claude Holloway and his son, JT. They're friends from Santa Fe."

Medda glanced at Jack. "So, you did make it out there. Was it as beautiful as you pictured?"

"Even more than I could imagine."

"If that's the case, what brought you back here?" Medda asked. "It certainly wasn't just because you missed me."

"Uh," Jack began awkwardly, his posture immediately going from cheerful to increasingly uncomfortable. "Have you seen Crutchie around? He ran and I—we can't find him."

Medda's smile fell instantly. "No, he hasn't dropped by. What happened?"

"We got in a fight and I think he was blaming himself for some of the stuff that happened back in Santa Fe and he ran back here, but they wouldn't let him back in ranks of the Manhattan newsies and he isn't over in Brooklyn and, I don't know, Medda, I'm startin' to get real worried. We'se only a day behind him, so he couldn't have gotten too far. Least, I don't think so," Jack said. Somehow, Medda always got the truth out of him. It felt almost nice, though, having someone to talk to about everything that had happened.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Medda whispered, pulling the boy into a hug once more. "If he shows up, I'll tell him you were here asking about him. And I'll make sure he stays put until you drop by again."

"Thanks, Medda. That means a lot. Um, well, if he's not here, we gotta go look elsewhere." Jack stepped backwards, not wanting to waste any time just standing around. There was still daylight, which meant they still had time to keep searching.

After the trio had left Irving Hall, JT questioned softly, "Do you think we're going to find him?"

"Of course we are," Jack promised, but that outcome was starting to look bleaker by the minute.

JT nodded. "Okay, so where are we looking next?"

Jack stood there, desperately trying to figure out where Crutchie would have felt safe enough to go after being turned away by the Manhattan newsies. He had assumed that Crutchie would try to find a job at Brooklyn if he couldn't work in Manhattan. That made sense. But, perhaps, Crutchie hadn't wanted to work with Spot, not after the last confrontation that had taken place. And Jack knew that Crutchie would feel comfortable at Irving Hall; Medda had always welcomed the boy with open arms, especially after the vaudeville incident. So, if Crutchie hadn't gone there, where else could he have possibly tried? Where else would he feel comfortable and welcome enough to ask someone for shelter for the night?

The answer came quickly, bringing a smile to Jack's lips. He should have thought of this initially. Davey. If Crutchie didn't feel like he had anywhere to go, he could always go to Davey's place and there he would receive a warm meal and, at the very least, a floor to sleep on.

"You ever heard of Davey and Les?" Jack asked JT.

JT's face lit up. "Yeah! They're the brothers that joined you for the strike, right? Crutchie was telling me about them. Do you think that's where Crutchie went?"

"I do," Jack said, the words sounding much more confident than Jack felt. "So, come on. Let's go find Crutchie and knock some sense back into that crazy kid."

The walk to where the Jacobs' house went much quicker than Jack appreciated. JT was excited and kept pointing out all the unique differences between New York City and Santa Fe. "I can't believe you and Crutchie lived here," JT kept repeating. "It's so huge! I'm glad you know where Crutchie is because it would be impossible to find him otherwise."

Jack didn't have the heart to say that this was only a hunch and that Crutchie had better be there because Jack was running out of places to look for his brother. He hesitated before knocking on the door, his hand hovering for a few brief seconds.

Les was the one to open the door. "Jack!" he exclaimed excitedly. "I didn't think you were still here!"

"Hey, Les," Jack said, wrapping his arms around the younger boy when Les quickly hugged Jack's legs. "Is—"

Jack's question was cut off when Davey came to the door, having recognized Jack's voice. "What brings you back here?" Davey asked. "I thought you were all set going to Santa Fe."

"I was. I am. But, uh, there's just one issue… Did Crutchie show up here last night?"

Davey stared at Jack. "No, he didn't. Did he—wasn't he with you?"

"Yeah, he was, but he ran back here and I can't find him."

"Oh," Davey said softly. "Did you try Brooklyn? Most of the Manhattan newsies—"

Jack nodded, interrupting Davey. "He wasn't there."

Davey fell silent, breaking eye contact with Jack. "What are you going to do?"

"Keep looking," Jack said, shrugging. "He's somewhere. I'll find him," Jack said, his words glimmering with false bravado.

"I'll keep an eye out for him, too," Davey promised. "And please tell me if—when you find him."

"Will do," Jack said, backing away from the door. This wasn't going the way he had hoped it would. It was taking much longer to find Crutchie, if he even would. Not that Jack would give up. Never. He finally faced Claude and JT, admitting, "I've got one more string left to pull."

Not that Jack exactly relished pulling this particular string. He hadn't talked to Katherine Pulitzer since they went their separate ways, over two months ago. And he honestly didn't want to break that silence. If it weren't that Crutchie was still missing, Jack would have happily avoided whatever awkward conversation was sure to stem from this meeting. Their final words had been cruel and unwarranted and those wounds were still to fresh. But, Jack was completely out of options and he refused to leave New York without Crutchie by his side.

The Pulitzer mansion was large and ornamented and it always succeeded in making Jack feel small and insignificant. "You know people who live here?" JT asked in awe, his neck craned back to peer up at the top of the mansion.

Jack half-shrugged. "I used to." He stepped up the four steps that led from the street to the front door, knocking with the golden, lion-faced knocker on the door. The door was opened by a smartly dressed butler. "May I speak to Katherine?" Jack asked.

"Who shall I tell her is here?"

"Jack Kelly," Jack said, somewhat nervously.

"One moment, sir," the butler said, shutting the door and leaving Jack standing helplessly at the front door. The butler returned shortly. "Unfortunately, Ms. Pulitzer is not seeing anyone at this time. You may go."

The butler started to shut the door, but Jack caught it with his hand, holding it open. "I'se gotta talk to her. It's an emergency." When the butler still wouldn't allow Jack inside, Jack settled for shouting, "Katherine! Katherine, I need your help!"

The butler fought to shut the door and Jack fought to keep it open. Behind him, Jack heard Claude suggest, "Maybe we can try somewhere else."

But, Jack wasn't going to give up. This was his last chance to find Crutchie, his only hope. "Katherine! Katherine, please!" Jack shouted, aware that there was a note of desperation in his voice and hoping that maybe Katherine would recognize this and come to his aid.

"Sir, you must leave," the butler grunted, yanking at the door.

Jack was watching the inside of the mansion for just a glimpse of Katherine, so as soon as he saw her chestnut hair, he shouted once more, "Katherine, please! You'se gotta help me."

The butler had nearly succeeded in slamming the door shut, but Katherine stopped him. "Jack, I really don't have time for this."

"Katherine, I really need your help. You know I wouldn't be here unless it was really important."

"I don't think we should talk to each other anymore."

"Is this about what I said when we broke up?" Jack asked. "If it is, I'm sorry. I was an idiot. Still am, most likely. And I'm sorry, I really am, but I need your help."

Katherine rolled her eyes. "If this is some attempt to get me to want to date you again, I can tell you, Mr. Kelly, that—"

"No, it isn't about that. I—Crutchie's missing. I don't know where he is and I've looked everywhere I can think of. I need your help, Katherine."

"What do you expect me to be able to do?" Katherine asked.

"I don't know!" Jack said, jerking his hand through his hair. "Send out detectives or—or get the entire police force to look for him. All I know is that I've been to everyone that might know where Crutchie is and no one has seen him. You're my last hope, Katherine, because I need to find him. I can't—God, I've just got to find him and I don't know what to do."

Katherine stared at Jack, glancing back at JT and Claude for just a brief moment. "You guys fought?"

Jack choked out a laugh. "Damn you reporter-types. Figuring everything out."

"And he ran all the way from Santa Fe to New York."

"Yeah, and he's got a day on me and it was snowing last night and I don't even know if he was able to find some form of shelter. The only bright side of this situation is that the Refuge is closed, so he isn't stuck there with Snyder or the…" Jack's head jerked up. "Are the Delanceys still around? If they so much as touch the kid, I swear I'll—" Jack cut himself off, glancing at Claude, before turning back to Katherine. "You think the Delanceys found him?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard anything about them since the strike and the closing of the Refuge. I think they crawled back into whatever corner of hell they came from and accepted defeat. I'm sure Crutchie's around somewhere."

Jack sighed. "Is there any way you could help me? Your father's got money and maybe—"

"I'll keep an eye out for him and I can spread the word at the World, but there isn't much else I can do. Like you said, it's my father's money. I'm not going to be able to hire a detective or whatever else you suggested. I'm sorry, Jack. I hope you find him."

"If you're doing this because of what I said—Don't you dare use my words against Crutchie," Jack hissed. "I know I was wrong and I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said half those things. But, don't you dare use that as an excuse to not help Crutchie. He wasn't the one—God, he shouldn't have to suffer for my mistakes!"

"I'm not—" Katherine began.

"He shouldn't have to suffer for my mistakes," Jack repeated bitterly. "Except, when has that ever been the case…"

Katherine only muttered, "I'm sorry, Jack. I'll look for him, I will. But, I don't have the money to help you," before gently shutting the door, leaving Jack watching his final hope for finding Crutchie disappear. He shouldn't have expected much. Not after what he had said to her when their relationship finally crumbled. Behind him, JT asked, "There's somewhere else we can look, right? You've got more places to try, don't you?"

"No," Jack croaked out, the full weight of the situation pressing heavily on his shoulders. It was done. He had lost Crutchie. He had lost his brother. And all because he had tossed a couple cruel words at the boy. Jack slowly turned to look at Claude and JT. "You can head back to Santa Fe, if you want. Thanks for everything, but I think…I think I'm just going to stick around New York."

"You've got to come back with us!" JT exclaimed. "We're going to find Crutchie and then both of you are coming back home. It's as simple as that."

"Nothing is as simple as that," Jack muttered, making his way past the Holloways. "You'll learn that quick enough, kid. Life ain't the way you want it to be and generally it just sucks, through and through."

JT shook his head. "There's always hope it'll get better."

Jack snorted. "I used to think that about Santa Fe, that that would be where I could finally live my dreams and where everything would be happy. And look where that got me. If I had just stayed here, Crutch would never have run off."

"So, what're you going to do?" JT challenged. "Just give up?"

Claude put his hand on his son's shoulder. "JT," he warned.

"No, pa, it isn't fair! Jack and Crutchie need to come back with us, they _need_ to."

"If Jack wants to stay in New York, we can't force him to leave," Claude pointed out.

JT turned to Jack, his eyes bright. "But, as soon as you find Crutchie, you'll come home, right? You promise you'll come home?"

Jack had to look away from the fifteen-year-old. "I—I can't promise anything. If Crutchie wants to stay here, I'm going to stay with him. He's my family."

"We're your family, too, now!"

"JT, I—"

Jack was caught off by the sound of a familiar voice. "Well, if it ain't the Cowboy, himself." Jack half-turned finding himself face to face with Race. Race shot him a grin, pointing to the West. "Santa Fe's that way, you idiot."

"Heya, Race," Jack said, not really anxious to talk to the other boy. He just wanted to get back out on the streets and find Crutchie; Jack didn't have time for this.

"So, did you come all the way back here just to visit me?" Race asked, a cigar planted firmly between his teeth.

"Well, not exactly—"

JT spoke up, "We're here to find Crutchie."

Race turned, facing the redhead. He observed the boy for a short moment, before asking, "JT, I presume?" Race's eyes flicked from the shocked redhead to the Stetson JT clutched in his hands. "And I take that to be the infamous cowboy hat?"

There was a beat of complete silence as everyone stared at Race, comprehending what he had just said. Then, Jack stuttered, "H-have you seen Crutchie around?" Only Crutchie could have told Race who JT was. That was the only possibility. It had to be.

"What's it to you?" Race asked, shrugging.

Jack had his fist around the collar of Race's shirt before Race knew what was going on. "I'm pretty sure you can imagine what it is to me," Jack growled. "I'm trying to find the kid and you're gonna tell me where he is."

"You don't have to pound the answer out of me," Race complained, prying Jack's hand out of his shirt. "I'm just making sure you were doin' this for the right reasons. He wasn't too happy when I found him."

Jack felt as if Race had punched all the air right out of him. "Was he okay? He wasn't hurt or nothin'?" Jack asked, suddenly feeling that the Holloway's presence was crowding him. Jack just wanted to have this conversation with Race in private; he didn't want Claude or JT to know what he had said to Crutchie.

"He was fine. Didn't have a place to go, but he was fine."

"I need to talk to him," Jack told Race, not bothering to hide the urgency in his voice.

"Yeah, I was figurin' you'd say that." Race sighed. "Come along. I'll bring ya to him, so long as he hasn't snuck out while I wasn't home. That kid, I swear…"

* * *

 **So, sorry. This isn't my favorite chapter-next week's will be much more fun. But, it is necessary. Reviews are always appreciated!**


	18. Chapter 18

**It is Wednesday once more! Wow, this year is going by so quickly. I can't believe it's already November. I usually like to take a month off to focus on my own personal work, and last year I took off November. But... I'm in the middle of this story and I feel like it would be just as painful to me as it would be to you to just stop mid-fic. So, I'll finish this and then I'll be taking a month off. This is just a pre-heads-up. We've still got one more main event to take place before this puppy draws to a close.**

 **Oh, and Mara May, at least I usually don't end chapters on cliff-hangers. It could be worse...**

 **Anyway, read on, ostriches!**

* * *

Crutchie didn't bother glancing up when he heard the door open, focused on tying the laces to his boot. "I was thinkin', Race, if I get out on the streets, then we—"

He wasn't able to finish his thought as he was pulled upwards into a tight hug. "Don't you ever run off like that again," a familiar voice warned.

"J-Jack?" Crutchie questioned, recognizing the familiar feel of his best friend's arms around him. Crutchie breathed out a halting sigh, hugging his oldest friend back. Race had been right. That boy was going to preen himself over this for years. Crutchie allowed himself to laugh a little, the sound muffled in Jack's shoulder.

"What was you thinking?" Jack asked, pulling out of the embrace, but keeping one arm around Crutchie's shoulders, as if the simple act of human contact could keep his friend from disappearing again.

"I—I don't know," Crutchie said shrugging.

"For someone who thinks a lot that was pretty stupid."

Crutchie turned to the sound of that voice. "JT?" he asked, before catching sight of the man behind JT. "Claude? What are you guys doing here?"

"You forgot your hat," JT said, grinning and holding the familiar Stetson in Crutchie's direction.

"Put it on," Race instructed. "I want to see it on you."

Crutchie laughed a little, the sound bordering hysterical. He hadn't thought they'd have cared; he hadn't expected them to come find him. After Race had suggested that Jack would chase after him, Crutchie had been forced to admit that that may be a possibility, but the Holloways? Never. They had their own lives, their own problems and couldn't be bothered by a runaway orphan who didn't seem to fit in anywhere. And yet, here they were.

Jack must have recognized what Crutchie was feeling because he gently squeezed the younger boy's shoulder, quietly urging, "Put the hat on, Crutch."

With a soft smile, Crutchie replaced the hat on his head. The familiar weight seemed to lift his spirits and for the first time in the past couple days, he felt truly happy. Race drawled, "I gotta admit, Crutchie. You look like someone who belongs out West. You look like a real cowboy."

"Are you ready to come home?" Claude asked.

Crutchie turned to the older man, his eyes hopeful. After everything that had happened in his childhood home, with his father's sudden death and the hateful polio, he hadn't had a true home for one long, cold, and vicious year. Then, Jack had brought him to the Lodging House and that had become his home. He had had a warm place to sleep, enough food to edge away starvation, and friends that had been more like family. Crutchie hadn't expected to ever find anywhere other than the Lodging House and had been, frankly, terrified of leaving the one place he knew and loved for the unknowns of Santa Fe. But, Claude was inviting him back, was using the word that Crutchie had been so hesitant to use, even if it were only in his thoughts. Claude was welcoming him home.

"I—I…" Crutchie stuttered, unsure of what to say, worried that his words would shatter this beautiful dream. "I don't know what to say."

"The answer is 'yes,'" Jack whispered, his mouth quirking into that familiar grin that Crutchie hadn't thought he had missed until it was right before him, a remembered comfort. "U-unless, you don't want to, that is," Jack quickly added. "If ya want to stay here, we'll stay, 'kay? Spot can get you a place in Brooklyn, selling papes. I'll find a job at one of the factories or somethin'. Whatever you choose, I'll be there, unless…" Jack faltered, his voice dropping even quieter. "That is, unless you don't want me there. If… if ya want, I'll leave, I'll go—"

Crutchie cut his friend off with a soft, "Shush."

"I just want you to know that it's your choice and I respect whatever you decide," Jack finished, shrugging lamely.

Turning to look Claude in the eye, Crutchie said, "Yes—just, I—yes," still stumbling over his words. He felt Jack grip his shoulder even tighter, pulling the boy a little closer to him and Crutchie was so relieved, so thankful that he was wanted. That he had a family.

JT grinned. "Good, because ma made me promise that I'd bring you back and I wouldn't want to disappoint her."

"Yeah," Jack said, continuing JT's line of thought. "Everyone misses you. Even Jessie, I think, and you know how little emotion she ever shows."

"She just doesn't trust people as easily," Claude pointed out, his voice gentle. "Of course, she misses you, Crutchie. Both you and Jack are a part of our family now."

Crutchie ignored the way that Race raised his eyebrow in Crutchie's direction, a clear I-told-you-so if Crutchie had ever seen one. "I—just, thank you," Crutchie said, still not sure how to respond to all of this. He wasn't used to having people beyond the newsies want him around, to have someone call him a member of their family. It was new and exciting and Crutchie didn't want to mess this newfound home up.

"We should probably get going," Jack suggested.

Race nodded at this, but before Crutchie could follow Jack and the Holloways out of the small tenement room, Race pulled the crippled boy aside. "Hey," he began, his voice low, "I just wanted you to know that if, for whatever reason, you need to get away and end up in New York again, you are always welcome here, yeah? I'm not saying you'll need to run; I don't expect you'll ever be sad or lonely again, not with them as your family, but the offer will stand for forever. You ain't ever gonna need to sit alone on the street because you can always come here."

Crutchie smiled. "Thanks, Race."

"Good. Now, get back out on one of those fancy stallions out West," Race said, nudging Crutchie's cowboy hat. "Go home, kid," he concluded, with a wide grin.

"I will."

Once Crutchie had caught up to Jack, Claude, and JT, Jack rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "We can't catch a train immediately," he admitted to Crutchie.

"Why not?" Crutchie asked.

"I sorta asked some people to keep an eye out for you when we was looking for you and now I gotta tell them that you're okay."

"Who'd you go to?" Crutchie asked.

"Who didn't he go to?" JT cut in, rolling his eyes. "Do we have to talk to everyone?"

"Probably just Davey. He can make the rounds and tell everyone else."

Crutchie stared at Jack curiously. "Who'd you go to?" Crutchie asked, repeating his question since Jack still hadn't answered him.

JT quickly spoke up. "Everyone," he complained. "First we went to where you guys used to sell papers, but they didn't know where you were. Then Jack went to Brooklyn. Pa and I weren't allowed to go because Jack thought there might be a fight. Which, there wasn't. Then we talked to that guy, Davey, and his little brother. We also went to see Medda—you remember her—but she hadn't seen you. So, then, Jack went to talk to that rich girl and, finally, we ran into, uh, Race, I think he said his name was and here you are."

"You talked to Spot?" Crutchie asked, turning to Jack in surprise, his mind still latched on that brief fact JT had divulged. Crutchie hadn't thought Jack would dare approach the leader of Brooklyn, not after everything that had happened before they had left.

"Well, yeah," Jack said, shrugging. "I thought you mighta gone to Brooklyn when Manhattan didn't let you pick up that newsies banner once again."

"Was he mad?" Crutchie asked hesitantly.

"Nah, he was worried 'bout you. Everyone was." Jack laughed, the sound slightly bitter. "Even Katherine."

Crutchie softly asked. "Why'd you talk to Katherine?"

"I had to find ya and she had the money to help. I mean, she couldn't use the money and I guess it was stupid for me to think she would, but I was running out of options and I needed to—"

Jack was cut off when Crutchie pulled the older boy into a tight hug. "Thank you, Jack." Crutchie hadn't expected the older boy to dig up all those past wounds just on the small chance that someone may have seen Crutchie or knew of his whereabouts.

"For what?"

Crutchie shrugged. "Everything?"

"You woulda done the same for me," Jack pointed out. "We'se gotta just stick together. That's how it works best."

"Yeah, I'm sorry 'bout runnin' away."

"Don't sweat it, kid. Let's just get you back home." Jack paused. "After we tell Davey you'se fine."

The trek across town to where Davey lived was long, but JT passed the time by telling Crutchie all about the train ride from Santa Fe to New York. "—and, so then this guy with an eye patch—no, I'm not making this up; ask Jack or pa, they'll tell you—anyway, this guy with an eye patch sits across from us and reaches inside his jacket and, I swear, in that moment, I thought I was going to be shot. Me! In the prime of my life, too. But, he just fixes us with this stare, his one eye watching, always watching, and he pulls out this book and says, 'Have ya'll ever heard of the miracle of Christ?' He was some sort of missionary! Can you believe that, Crutch? Only one eyeball and out travelling the world to share his gospel." JT grinned. "It was cool. Maybe we'll see someone with a peg leg on the way home."

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Jack advised.

"Let me dream, Jack," JT groused, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

Crutchie merely grinned, thankful to be back among his friends. When he had first left the Holloways, he had been convinced that it was the right thing to do. It hadn't been and now Crutchie was overwhelmingly grateful that he was able to repent of that mistake and go back to Santa Fe. To go back home, as Claude had worded it.

Davey was the one to answer the door, once they reached Davey's house, and his eyes immediately found Crutchie. "Thank goodness," he muttered, his shoulders losing their tension.

"We found 'im," Jack announced, grinning.

"Hi, Davey," Crutchie said sheepishly.

"Why didn't you come here? You could have stayed with Les and I," Davey pointed out.

Crutchie shrugged. "I don't know. Just thought you guys wouldn't want me around. Thought you'd rather I was Jack, or something," Crutchie finished weakly.

"Oh, trust me, my ma would much rather have you around than Jack," Davey said, grinning.

"Hey!" Jack quickly protested. "I'd like it known that I am a true gentleman."

"Regardless," Davey continued, "you're always welcome here. You know that, right, Crutchie?"

"I guess. Thanks, Davey."

Davey nodded, recognizing that Crutchie wouldn't ever fully feel welcome. At least not yet. But, this could be a step in the right direction. "Do you guys want to come in? My ma is probably just starting dinner, but I'm sure you guys could stay for some."

"No, thank you, though," Jack said. "I was actually wonderin' if you wouldn't mind going around and telling everyone that Crutchie is fine. We was just going to hop on the next train out West. Gotta get this kid home," Jack said, nudging Crutchie meaningfully in the ribs.

"Sure. Who all did you talk to?"

Once Jack had given Davey the list of people he needed to talk to, they began the trek to the train yard. Claude purchased the train tickets for the four of them, which reminded Crutchie, painfully of the second loan the Holloways needed to take out. And, despite that, Claude had still taken the time and money to travel to New York to find Crutchie. Crutchie didn't know if he should feel pleased or even more upset about that action and merely elected to not think about it for the moment. As they boarded the train, Crutchie chose the window seat, with Jack immediately on his left. Crutchie stared at the window, watching as the city he had grown up in shrunk, eventually fading in the settling darkness. With a soft smile, Crutchie whispered to himself, "Just hold on, kid, til that train makes Santa Fe."

* * *

It was different, stepping out of the train and onto Santa Fe soil this time. This time, Crutchie wasn't terrified of the prospect of dying in an unknown corner of the town. This time, the red dust and the dizzying dance of citizens going about their way seemed almost beautiful. This time, Crutchie felt as if he finally understood what Jack was feeling when they first came to Santa Fe: he could start over now and make a life of his own with his new family. _Family_.

When the four travelers finally reached the Holloway homestead, Sue was the first one to greet them. She pulled Crutchie into a tight hug, whispering, "Welcome home, son, welcome home to Santa Fe." Crutchie's heart jumped at that small, seemingly insignificant word: _son_. She had called him _son_.

Syd and Jessie joined the rest of the family out in the front yard. "Don't run away again," Syd advised. "But, if you do, it's totally my turn to travel out to New York City to find you."

Jessie merely nodded at Crutchie and he figured that that was the best he would ever receive from her.

"I think we should do something to celebrate Crutchie's return!" JT shouted, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Like what?" Jessie asked, her voice flat and expressionless.

"Cake!" JT suggested.

"You boys ever shot Colt?" Claude asked.

Jack stared at Claude. "A—a horse?" he asked nervously, not looking forward to this new aspect of ranching.

JT laughed. "No, a gun, stupid."

"Uh, the answer is still no," Jack said, as if it were obvious. "Do—do you guys just go out and shoot things? For fun?"

"Yes, and you'd be surprised just how terrible JT actually is. I can't even keep track of all the times he's misfired into the ground. It's a wonder he still has all his toes," Syd remarked.

"It only happened three times!" JT complained. "And that first time wasn't my fault; pa hadn't taught me—"

Syd rolled his eyes, interrupting his younger brother. "Everyone knows what happens when you pull the trigger, idiot."

Before JT could counteract Syd's barb, Claude interrupted his two sons. "Calm down, boys, or the pair of you will be watching the rest of us shoot." Syd and JT instantly fell silent, which had Claude grinning wryly. "Okay, good. Now, who would like to come shooting with Jack, Crutchie, and I? Sue? Jessie? I know you two do, so calm down," Claude added, when JT started bouncing up and down to get his father's attention.

"I'll stay home," Sue said. "I've got bread in the oven and can't leave it alone. Maybe I'll come next time."

Jessie rolled her eyes. "Look, as much fun as it sounds to go out shooting with a pair of beginners, I do prefer to remain uninjured."

JT leaned over to Crutchie and whispered loudly, "Jessie thinks she's all that just because she happens to be better than Syd or I." He stared pointedly at his sister as he made this comment to Crutchie, challenging her to respond.

"JT's just bitter that he couldn't even hit a bale of hay only fifty meters off."

"It was windy!" JT protested.

Claude interrupted his bickering children with a soft, "Are you going to join us, Jessie?"

"No, I'll stay home," she said, turning away from her father and making her way to the house.

Sue smiled softly. "She has it hard, you know," she said, before JT could make a rude comment.

"Whatever," JT muttered.

"We are glad you are home," Sue then said, addressing Crutchie. "You don't ever have to feel like you don't belong. And please don't run off like that again. We were so worried about you."

"I—I won't," Crutchie stuttered, the promise lodging uncomfortably in his throat. He hadn't thought anyone beyond Jack would ever care whether he stayed or went. For the majority of his life, he had just been some crippled boy who tagged along with Jack. But now… Now, Crutchie had a family. And this time, the family wanted him to be around, had traveled across the country to bring him home. "I won't ever again."

"Sounds good," JT quickly said, shattering what was an important moment in Crutchie's life. "Can we just go shooting? Before it gets dark?"

Claude smiled. "Yes, we're going." The boys followed Claude to a room connected to the outside of the house where he stored all of his guns and ammunition. Crutchie was given a large rifle to carry and he accepted his new position with the utmost solemnity. Syd's stories of JT nearly shooting his foot rung heavy in his head and he knew that, although he had been welcomed home as a long-lost son, accidentally shooting one of Claude's real sons would probably have them sending him packing in only a few short minutes.

Claude led the four boys to a clearing in the ranch, where there weren't any cattle or sheep grazing nearby. He set up a couple of glass bottles on the edge of the fence, before returning to the boys. "Okay, who wants to go first?" he asked. As soon as JT's hand shot up, he rectified his question. "Between Jack and Crutchie, who wants to go first?"

"That's not fair," JT groused, glaring at Syd when he laughed at his baby brother.

"I'll try," Jack said, when he realized that Crutchie wasn't going to offer to go first. He stepped forward and allowed Claude to help him position the Colt in his hands. "Like this?" Jack asked, once the gun actually felt comfortable.

Claude nodded. "Okay, just aim for the bottle and squeeze the trigger," he instructed.

Jack squinted his left eye, holding his arms straight out in front of him, parallel to the ground before him. He lined up the barrel of the revolver with the bottle and gently pulled the trigger back. Jack nearly fell on his butt when the gun jolted backwards into his hands, the sudden motion and the force frightening him.

"Oh, yeah," Syd called out, "don't forget it has a kick to it!"

"Thanks, Syd," Jack muttered, shakily handing the gun back to Claude. "How'd I do?"

"Well," JT began sarcastically, "if you were aiming for the sky, I'd say you did quite excellent."

"Oh, shut up, JT," Jack said, good-naturedly. "It was my first try."

Claude helped Jack re-position the Colt and showed him how to aim better. It took another five tries, but Jack eventually hit the edge of the fence near one of the bottles. The force of the bullet hitting the fence knocked the glass bottle off and it fell to the ground, shattering when it landed on a rock. "That counts!" Jack exclaimed excitedly.

Laughing, Claude turned to Crutchie. "Okay, Crutchie, it's your turn."

"I don't know," Crutchie began, his voice nervous. He was still worried he'd somehow manage to shoot one of the Holloways. Claude was still healing from the bank robbery from over a week ago and Crutchie didn't think he would particularly appreciate having another hole in his arm.

"Oh, come on," JT urged. "There's no way you could do any worse than Jack."

"Hey!" Jack complained, lightly punching JT in the shoulder. "I take offense to that."

Crutchie laughed nervously, finally stepping forward to where Claude was patiently waiting. He allowed Claude to position the Colt correctly in his right hand and guide his left hand to help steady the gun. Crutchie leaned on his crutch as he aimed the gun at the first glass bottle. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the trigger, jolting backwards when the revolver's kick jarred his still-healing left wrist. Crutchie hissed, shaking his injured hand and was so focused on the pain that he forgot the point of the activity until he heard Jack.

"Well, crap, Crutchie."

Crutchie glanced up at his friend, confused, until JT commented, "Beginner's luck. Has to be."

"You hit the bottle," Claude said, smiling. "You're a natural."

Syd shook his head. "No, I'm with JT on this. Crutchie's just lucky."

Crutchie turned to the line of bottles on the fence, finally noticing that the first bottle was missing, shards of glass sparkling iridescent in the grass. With a wry grin, Crutchie shoved the pain in his wrist to the far corner of his mind. "We'll see," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Taking careful aim once more, Crutchie pulled the trigger. Another glass bottle shattered. Then another. And another. After five of the six bottles had been smashed and the gun was emptied of bullets, one having gone astray, Crutchie turned back to Jack and the Holloways.

"That ain't beginner's luck," Jack muttered, his mouth slack in shock.

"You might even be better than Jessie," JT whispered.

Claude clapped a hand on Crutchie's shoulder. "Like I said before, you're a natural. That's astounding. We're going to have to see if you can enter in the next shoot-out."

Crutchie grinned sheepishly. "I ain't that good."

"You just got five out of six!" Syd pointed out. "I don't even want to shoot after you; I'd just embarrass myself."

"How do you do it?" Jack asked. "I could barely hit the fence."

Crutchie shrugged. "I don't know. Aim, I guess."

"I tried aimin'!" Jack complained. "You'se gonna have to teach me your secrets."

"I don't got any! It was just luck."

JT rolled his eyes. "Remind me to never get in a duel with Crutchie."

Jack stepped closer, his hip bumping against Crutchie's left hand. Crutchie hissed at the sudden pressure, jerking his hand away from Jack. "Are you okay?" Jack quickly asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. My wrist just hurts a bit, that's it," Crutchie muttered, cradling the injured appendage against his stomach.

Claude frowned. "That's the wrist you broke, isn't it. This is my fault, Crutchie. I shouldn't have let you shoot with a bad wrist. Can I see it?" Crutchie carefully stretched out his left arm, allowing Claude to gingerly examine his left wrist. After a few moments of looking for something his untrained eye could never pick out, Claude admitted defeat. "I'll have Tim come to look at it. I really should have remembered. I'm sorry, Crutchie."

"No, it's fine. I'm the idiot who kept shooting, even though it hurt," Crutchie pointed out, embarrassed by Claude's guilt. He hadn't expected the older man to care so much.

"Well, let's get you home and then Tim can come and make sure it's still healing. Besides," Claude added with a slow grin, "I'm sure Jessie would love to hear how this beginner here managed to shoot better than she did her first try."

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 **I hoped you enjoyed the chapter! Constructive criticism and reviews are always appreciated and I respond to each one individually!**

 **Here's a quick story which shows just how passionate I am about Newsies. So, I don't know if you guys have ever listened to Starlight Express (specifically the original soundtrack. I like the new songs, but I prefer the original ones a tad more) but there is this song called "Call Me Rusty" and it's sung by the main character, who is a steam train that is mocked by all the other engines. I was listening to it one day and singing along and I accidentally sung "Call me Crutchie if you like" and it completely fit. It fit a little too well. So, now I've been singing it as "Call Me Crutchie" and just been giving myself too much feelz. Anyway, story over. If you haven't listened to Starlight Express, I highly recommend it. It was my favorite musical as a child.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Happy Wednesday! It's finally that time of the week, again. One of these days I will announce that we've hit the final chapter, but today is not that day. In fact, next chapter is when we actually hit the climax of the story, so there really isn't that much longer to go. Anyway, you guys probably don't care about my rambling, so go ahead, read on.**

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Crutchie sat down in a chair, gingerly cradling his injured wrist against his chest. Syd had been instructed to ride out and bring Dr. Cavanaugh back to the house. Now, Crutchie just had to sit there and wait for the doctor to come and make sure he hadn't messed up his wrist too much. Carefully, Crutchie readjusted the familiar Stetson, pushing it up so it wasn't hanging over his eyes. He resisted grinning as he listened to JT relate to Jessie just how skilled Crutchie was with a gun. "—and he just shot everything! Everything, Jessie! I mean, he missed one of the bottles, but you missed two when you first started out and remember how proud we were of you, but Crutchie's even better. Ha, think of that, Jess."

"Oh, shut up," Jessie muttered, turning a page in her book and trying, in futile, to ignore her younger brother.

"You said you didn't want to go shooting with beginners, but Crutchie's better than a beginner. If you were to have a competition between the two of you—"

"I'd still win," Jessie asserted, finally looking up from her book. "I've been shooting for as long as I can remember and I just don't believe Crutchie is as good as you say. He got lucky. Very lucky, but lucky, nonetheless."

JT frowned, crossing the room to sit next to Crutchie. "Don't listen to her. She's just bitter," JT told Crutchie. "If you keep practicing, you'll totally have her beat."

"Nah, I don't need to beat her," Crutchie said. "If it's that important to her to be the best, that's okay. It don't matter so much to me."

"Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it does to Syd and I. We've been trying to find something we can beat Jessie at—she's good at _everything_ —and finally you come along and you can show her up at something."

Crutchie shrugged. "Maybe she has to be good at everything, just to prove that she can. Back in New York, Katherine—she was the one who helped us with the strike by writing all the newspaper articles—had to be so much smarter and quicker to prove that she belonged in the newspaper firm or as a reporter. I think it might be the same with Jessie. She's gotta prove that she belongs on the ranch just as much as your pa and Syd. So, if she wants to be better at shooting than me, I don't really care all that much."

"Hm," JT said, frowning. "I mean, maybe. I think she fits in just fine without having to rub her superiority in all our faces."

"Well, that's just my two cents," Crutchie concluded, shrugging once more.

Jack sat down next to Crutchie, ending whatever was left of the conversation between Crutchie and JT. "Is your wrist still hurting?" Jack asked.

"It's not so bad," Crutchie said, shaking his head. "If I just sit here and not move it, it's fine."

"I completely forgot you broke it," Jack admitted.

Crutchie shrugged. "It has been a while. A lot of things have happened since I broke my wrist. I was sick, the bank robbery, uh, New York city. Honestly, I would have been surprised if you had remembered."

"Yeah, well, I still should have." Jack glanced away from Crutchie and rubbing at his right hand nervously. Crutchie could hear the faint guilt in Jack's voice and quickly spoke up to assuage that needless emotion. He was hurt, sure, but it was fine. He wasn't _dying_ or falling off of horses or anything else awful that had made the last couple months very eventful.

"Don't worry about it, Jack. I pretty much forgot I broke it," Crutchie lied, his mind flashing back to the countless painful twinges that had occurred when he over-extended his wrist or moved the joint too quickly. He had almost gotten used to the constant pain that radiated from his wrist, having been too focused on finding somewhere to fit in once he had arrived in New York. Now that he was back somewhere he could feel safe, Crutchie had nothing more pressing to distract himself from the burning that centered around the injured joint.

Jack's face twisted into a frown. "Still," he began, but fell silent when Syd returned with Dr. Cavanaugh in tow. "That was fast," Jack muttered, standing and backing away to allow Dr. Cavanaugh to examine his best friend.

"Crutchie, is it?" Dr. Cavanaugh asked, sitting down next to the crippled boy.

"Yeah," Crutchie said, extending his wrist so that Dr. Cavanaugh could look at it.

"Well, Crutchie," Dr. Cavanaugh began, gently taking the injured joint delicately in between his fingers, "it's nice to finally meet you. These last couple times, you've been unconscious. That's not exactly my preferred state for a patient, however."

"That must make it easier to doctor on 'em," Crutchie pointed out, hissing when the pressure of Dr. Cavanaugh's fingers rubbed against the tender skin.

"You'd think," Dr. Cavanaugh quickly replied, partially to distract Crutchie from the pain, "but, I've realized that if the patient is unconscious, they don't really listen to me when I give them instructions on how to take care of themselves."

Crutchie grinned. "So, I've got an excuse for hurting my wrist again. Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, even if that were what I was saying, you don't have that excuse any longer." Dr. Cavanaugh looked Crutchie straight in the eye. "No more hurting your wrist. More specifically, no more shooting."

"How long 'til it heals?" Crutchie asked as Dr. Cavanaugh began wrapping the wrist and effectively immobilizing it.

"Probably another couple weeks, as long as you're careful. If I have to continue coming back and rewrapping your wrist, it could take months."

"I'll be careful," Crutchie promised.

"Okay, I'll hold you to it," Dr. Cavanaugh cheerfully replied. "You won't need to keep it wrapped all week, but I would prefer if you at least tried to keep the wrapping there for the next couple days; it will hold the wrist in the correct place, which will help it heal correctly."

"I can do that," Crutchie said, nodding.

"Good, now I don't expect to have to see you again for the next couple weeks."

"You don't want to see me?" Crutchie teased. "And here I thought I was being a great patient."

Dr. Cavanaugh smiled. "You don't get that compliment, yet. If you can avoid hurting your wrist in the next two weeks, then you can call yourself a great patient."

"Deal," Crutchie agreed.

"Okay, I'm going to talk to Claude and Sue now, but you be careful for the next couple weeks." With that, Dr. Cavanaugh stood up and crossed the room to discuss what Crutchie could only assume was a payment with Claude. That assumption only brought up unpleasant memories of why he had run all the way to New York to begin with. Crutchie glanced down, bitter that he was costing Claude so much money. The Holloways were going so far into debt because of him.

"You feeling okay?" Jack asked, re-approaching now that Dr. Cavanaugh had left Crutchie's side.

Crutchie shot Jack a wide grin. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just worried I'm gonna accidentally hurt my wrist again and then I don't get to be called a 'great patient,'" Crutchie explained.

"I'll make sure you're careful," Jack promised. He then added, "Hey, Clark and his wife are coming over for dinner."

"Their older brother? I haven't met him."

"I know. Last time they were here you were unconscious."

Crutchie rolled his eyes. "My bad. Are they nice?"

"Yeah, loads. You'll like Clark and… I think her name is Mae-Anne."

"I'm meeting all sorts of people that last knew me when I was unconscious," Crutchie muttered.

Jack's lips quirked up. "Well, this just teaches you that maybe you shouldn't spend so long unconscious, eh?" Before Crutchie could defend himself, Jack leaned over and ruffled Crutchie's hair, nearly knocking the Cowboy hat off of Crutchie's head. Crutchie deftly caught the hat, straightening it. "Look, kid, you ain't allowed to do that to me again, you hear me?"

Crutchie swatted Jack's hands away. "Yeah, I hear you. It's not as if I wanted it to happen."

"Clark's here!" JT shouted, bursting into the room where Jack and Crutchie were talking. He grabbed Crutchie's good hand, pulling him up and handing him his crutch. "You haven't met, Clark, right? Well, now you get to. He's the best older brother I've ever had."

"Hey," Syd muttered. "I take offense to that…"

JT practically dragged Crutchie into the dining room where a tall man, in his late twenties, with dark brunette hair and light brown eyes was speaking with Sue. He had Claude's jaw and wide shoulders, but spoke softly like his mother. Beside him, a small blonde woman stood, talking animatedly to Jessie. Her hair was pulled into a soft bun at the nape of her neck and when she turned, most likely hearing JT's inordinately loud entrance, Crutchie noticed that she had dark grey eyes that spoke of intelligence and empathy.

Clark, also, turned at the sound of his youngest brother's entry and grinned. "Hey, JT, giving Syd a hard time for me?"

"Oh, you know it!" JT exclaimed happily.

"Have him bug Jessie," Syd suggested, sitting down at the table. "If this is because of that time I left a snake in your—"

Clark sat down next to Syd, punching him in the arm playfully. "Of course not, Syd. I don't hold grudges. I'm too mature for that." Clark punctuated his claim by sticking his tongue out at Syd.

"Quiet down, boys," Sue said, gently knocking each of her sons on the head with a wooden spoon. "If you keep this up, none of us will get any food."

The rest of the Holloway family squeezed around the table, the addition of Clark and Mae-Anne extra noticeable as Crutchie found himself squished in between Jack and Jessie. _Perfect._ Jack, noticing Crutchie's discomfort, elbowed him in the side, causing Crutchie to jerk to his left, slamming himself against Jessie in an effort to escape Jack's bony elbow. Jessie shoved Crutchie back into Jack, rolling her eyes. She quietly muttered, "One more—" but Crutchie's attention was pulled away from Jessie when Claude cleared his throat.

"Well, Clark," Claude said, drawing his eldest son's attention to him instantly. "Would you mind blessing the food?"

Clark quickly gave a short prayer focusing on the food. "And we're extra thankful that ma can make food and that Mae-Anne and I get a free meal. Oh, and thank you for our family. Except Syd, who—"

"Hey!" Syd exclaimed, interrupting the prayer.

Sue shushed her son. "Let him pray," she hissed.

"Who," Clark continued, grinning smugly at Syd, "can sometimes be a real pain in the—"

"Clark!" Sue exclaimed, before he could cuss.

"Amen," Clark finished, his grin widening.

The rest of the family chorused their own "amens" and Mae-Anne elbowed her husband in the ribs. JT snickered, leaning across the table to address Crutchie. "See, I told you Clark is better than Syd. He's more fun."

"I'm fun," Syd groused, grabbing the loaf of bread before JT could reach it. JT pouted and Syd specifically passed the bread away from him, smirking as he did so.

Jessie rolled her eyes. "You guys are idiots," she muttered.

"You're just jealous that Clark likes me best," JT said, sticking his tongue out.

"This is supposed to be a nice, happy family dinner," Claude said, preempting whatever argument was about to erupt between his children. "Behave. All of you. Clark included."

"So," Clark began, once everyone in the family had dished up their plates and had begun to eat. JT was already serving himself seconds, having wolfed the first helping down in barely over a minute. "You're Crutchie, right?" he asked, gesturing his fork in Crutchie's direction.

Crutchie nodded, swallowing his half-chewed green beans. "Yeah, that's me."

"That's an interesting name," Clark said.

There was no malice behind the words, just curiosity. Crutchie shrugged. "It's mine," was all he could think to reply with.

"It doesn't take a genius to see where the name comes from," Jessie muttered behind a glassful of milk. Beside him, Crutchie noticed that Jack had stiffened at Jessie's spiteful words, but he ignored the tenseness in his best friend.

Crutchie knew her words were meant to sting, but he merely grinned. "Yeah, and it makes it real easy for people to remember my name. I don't think I've ever had anyone call me by the wrong name."

Jessie rolled her eyes, pursing her lips as she realized Crutchie refused to be offended. "Hey, that's pretty clever," Clark said, his grin widening. "Mae-Anne, if we ever have a kid, let's name him something like that, so we won't forget the name."

"If you ever have a kid?" Sue challenged from her end of the table. "You better provide me with grandchildren, Clark. I did not spend twenty-two long years of my life struggling to raise you so you could find a nice girl and then you not repay me with some little angel that will call me Grandma. So, don't hold off forever; I'm not a patient woman."

Clark raised his hands in mock defense. "Sorry, ma. Didn't realize you were so passionate about Mae-Anne and I's sexual life."

"Whoa!" Syd exclaimed as JT's eyes widened in shock. "I do not need to hear about that," Syd muttered.

"You know that's not what I meant, Clark," Sue shot back, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm just calling it how I hear it," Clark said, shrugging.

Up until this point, Mae-Anne had remained silent, but she spoke up now. "Besides, Clark, who's to say that you get to name our child?"

Clark puffed his chest out. "I will be the father. I'm pretty sure it's my right to—"

"Okay, but I'll be the one doing the heavy-lifting," Mae-Anne quickly pointed out. "Literally. I'll be carrying that child for nine whole months and if I haven't earned the right to name him or her by then…" She gently whacked her husband with her fork. "Unless you say I get to name the child, you won't even get the opportunity to be a father."

"Fine," Clark said, grinning wickedly. "You get to name the child. Want to have a shot at parenthood now?"

Syd shook his head, bothered by his elder brother's comments. "Can we discuss something else? I'm trying to eat here," he gestured at his half-eaten meatloaf with his fork.

Clark smirked at Syd. "You're just jealous. But, we can talk about something else if it really bothers you that much. Hey, Crutchie, what do you do around here? Are you going to school with JT or working the ranch with Syd?"

"I go to school," Crutchie said, focusing at his plate and pushing a few remnant green beans around. He hadn't been thinking about school—it had been nearly two weeks since he had gone and Crutchie did not look forward to having to deal with Philip and Ms. Briarwood again.

"Do you enjoy that?" Clark asked, his brows furrowing slightly when he noticed the way Crutchie's shoulders nearly imperceptibly drew together.

"Most of the time," Crutchie replied, finally looking up from his green beans. He grinned, though the motion was false and Crutchie suspected Clark could read right through the fake smile. Crutchie was a little surprised at how well Clark seemed to decipher his emotions; none of the other Holloways could read him like that. "I didn't get to go to school back in New York."

"You learning lots?"

Crutchie shrugged. "I'm learning 'bout people, mostly."

JT interrupted, "Ms. Briarwood didn't believe that Crutchie could read, so he's with the beginners at that table, even though he can read just about as good as I can. She said if he hasn't gone to school before, then he wouldn't know how to read. Crutchie tried to explain that he was a newsie, but Ms. Briarwood didn't believe he was part of the strike, either."

Jack set his glass down with a loud thump. "She didn't believe you?"

Crutchie shrugged once more. "Well, what proof do I got? My memories? She'll just say I'm making it up."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Sue asked quietly, small connections being made. She thought she understood why Crutchie was more willing to run back to New York now; the crippled boy was beginning to make more sense.

"I don't know. It don't matter, really."

"It does too," Jack asserted. "Tomorrow, I'll drop by the schoolhouse and I'll show her you were in the strike."

Crutchie shook his head. "She'd just think you were lying. Don't worry about it, Jack. It's fine, really."

"I have one of those newspapers, the one with our picture and Katherine's article? Katherine gave me a copy, back when, uh—So, I'll just show your teacher," Jack said, nodding to himself. "Then she'll hafta believe you."

JT grinned. "Then, maybe she'll move you so you can sit with me. Pa, can Jack come to school with us tomorrow for a little while?"

Claude glanced between the three boys, before finally relenting. "Yes, he can. But, Jack, I do expect you to be back before lunch. This isn't a day off. You've had your vacation."

"Searching for Crutch, here, wasn't much of a vacation," Jack groused. "Yeah, I'll be back. I'se just gonna prove to her that Crutchie and I were in the strike and then I'll come home."

"What, are you going to ground him if he doesn't?" Clark teased.

"They're family," JT pointed out protectively.

"Okay, sheesh," Clark said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was just wondering if they were in one of those win-win situations where they get food and shelter, but none of those awful strings that come along with having parents like chores and being grounded. Besides, you aren't allowed to be grounded. Not tomorrow. See, tomorrow's my birthday and you all better be over and Mae-Anne and I's place for cake."

"Tres leches?" JT asked excitedly.

Clark pulled a face. "No, chocolate, stupid. Tres leches' is ma's specialty. Mae-Anne makes a mean chocolate cake, though. So, I expect you all to be there," Clark said, fixing everyone with a stern stare. "And I also expect presents."

"Oh, can it, Clark," Syd muttered.

"And you wonder why I like JT better," Clark said smugly, shoving Syd gently.

"You guys act like you're five," Jessie spoke up, rolling her eyes.

Mae-Anne nodded sympathetically. "I know. I'm sorry you had to grow up with this idiot."

"Well, at least I'm your idiot," Clark said, leaning toward his wife and gently kissing her.

"Oh, sick," Syd said, abruptly standing up. "I think I just lost my appetite. Thanks for the dinner, ma, but I think I'm going to head to bed where I don't have to watch my older brother and his wife—Ugh, that's just gross, Clark." Clark, recognizing Syd's discomfort, only kissed Mae-Anne harder, smirking against his wife's lips. Syd gave up and left the room, muttering something about wishing he were an only child.

With that, the family broke up, the meal officially over. Claude and Sue saw their son and daughter-in-law out of the house, promising to come visit the following day for Clark's birthday. Crutchie stood up, yawning and ready to finally go to bed in his very own bed that he had missed while he was back in New York. Jack stopped him, his hand grabbing at Crutchie's shoulder. "I'll go to school with you tomorrow, okay? We'll solve that problem with your teacher."

Crutchie wanted to point out that he could solve his own problems, but he recognized that Jack wasn't going to back down. And, he really did owe Jack for taking the time to go all the way to New York to bring him home. For once, he would just accept the favor for what it was: a way for Jack to show that he cared. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack smiled, surprised that Crutchie wasn't going to fight the service. "You are welcome."

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 **Yeah, I introduced a new character. In chapter 19. I hope you like Clark; there will be more of him in the sequel. So, I know that this chapter wasn't the most exciting thing, but next week's will make up for it, trust me. Reviews, constructive criticism, guesses on what will happen next week, all are very welcome! Have a fantastic week!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Happy Hump Day! Man, this semester is almost over. I can't believe it; everything's been moving so fast... Anyway, here is the next chapter. It's my longest one at this point-just barely surpassed Chapter 13. Which, is sorta ironic, since this chapter keeps referencing that one. But, you'll see that soon. Anyway, read on, ostriches!**

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The next morning, Crutchie woke up to JT shaking him awake. "I know you're probably used to sleeping in and everything after your little jaunt back to New York, but we've got to get up and go to school."

Crutchie rolled over, slinging his arm over his eyes. "I'll go tomorrow," he muttered, but JT refused to give up that easily.

"Come on, today's the day that Jack's coming with us. Remember? He's going to show Ms. Briarwood that you guys were actually newsies. So, you've got to come along."

"Fine, fine," Crutchie said, sitting up. Anxiety swirled uncomfortably around his stomach. He wasn't much for confrontations and Crutchie feared that that was exactly how the day at school would end. The previous night, Crutchie had allowed Jack to promise to come to school with them, but now he was doubting that decision. Crutchie wasn't one to let Jack fight his battles for him, despite knowing that Jack loved to stand up for his friends, probably depended on that feeling of usefulness that arose from being the protector. Of course, he'd generally relent and let Jack sweep in as the hero he ached to be, but, now, Crutchie wished he had just brushed the older boy off. The problem was not simply Ms. Briarwood; Phillip and his lackeys still worked to make Crutchie's life hell. And Crutchie feared that Jack's appearance would just convince Phillip that he was even more helpless and required an older boy to come and fight his own battles.

Crutchie followed JT out to the dining room, ignoring the vortex of fears that gnawed at the corner of his mind, distracting him with their whispered taunts and foretelling images. Sue had made scrambled eggs and Syd and Jessie were already at the table, spooning the yellow eggs onto their plates. "Where's Jack?" JT asked, sitting down and trying to grab the spoon out of Jessie's hand, who deftly moved it out of his reach, before smacking his wrist with the large utensil. JT rubbed at his stinging wrist, before repeating his question. "C'mon, where's Jack?"

Syd shrugged. "I don't know, he got up a while ago. So, he's around. Somewhere."

"Thanks, that's helpful," JT muttered sarcastically, sitting at the table and passing a plate to Crutchie, before grabbing his own. "He said he was going to come to school with us for a little while."

"Yeah, I know. I was at dinner to, you know."

JT rolled his eyes. "I don't need your sarcasm in my life."

"I don't need you in my life," Syd shot back immediately.

"Will you guys just shut up?" Jessie proposed, glaring at her brothers. "That would be nice."

Jack entered the dining room, putting a hold to the argument between the Holloway children. "Hey," he said, quickly dishing up some eggs and shoveling them into his mouth. In between bites, he asked, "When are we leaving?"

"In a while. You don't need to eat that quickly," JT pointed out, raising an eyebrow in Jack's direction.

"I'd just like to get there early, so I can be back here working at the ranch as soon as possible," Jack said, finishing off his plate of eggs. "You guys ready to go now?"

JT glanced at the pile of eggs on his plate, before looking back at Jack. "I'll give you three guesses as to what that answer is."

"Okay, fine, finish your eggs," Jack groused.

"Why are you so anxious to get going?" Crutchie asked.

Jack shrugged. "Just want to get it over with, I guess."

Crutchie frowned, turning back to his eggs. Oh. So, it was a chore to Jack. It was just something that was keeping him from what he really wanted to be doing: working on the ranch with Syd and the others. Once again, Crutchie was just a burden. "You don't have to do this," Crutchie said. "It really ain't a big deal. Nothing I can't handle. If you just want to stay and work, then I can—"

"Wait, Crutch, that ain't what I meant," Jack quickly interjected. "I just didn't want Claude thinkin' I was skipping out on work. I don't want you to be upset about going to school because some teacher's playing the jerk to you. So, we'se gonna put a stop to it, yeah?"

"Okay," Crutchie said softly, scraping at his plate with his fork. He still didn't look forward to having Jack come sweeping to his rescue once again. Crutchie really just wished he didn't need rescuing, or could be the rescuer, himself, for a change. There had been many late nights on the rooftop, back when they were younger and Jack would tell all sorts of stories beyond the Santa Fe images he had clung to for support as they grew older. Crutchie recalled the stories that Jack would spin about pirates and circuses and dragons. And superheroes. Jack, with vivid words and an imagination that stretched miles long, created a crime-fighting duo. There had been the hero: a man who could fly and had the strength of a hundred elephants and who always saved the day and got the girl. And then there had been the hero's sidekick, a loveable friend that, more often than not, managed to mess up the plan or be captured by the villain, causing his heroic friend more grief and stress than Jack ever elaborated on; every other story, it seemed, the hero needed to go rescue his bumbling friend. Crutchie was no idiot and he knew that he was the sidekick to Jack's hero. And here Jack was, rescuing him once more.

JT had finally finished his eggs and Crutchie didn't think he could manage another bite, so the trio began the long trek to school. Once again, JT jabbered on and on, but now he had an audience of two and the increase of listeners seemed to whip up his excitement to unprecedented heights. Crutchie was pretty sure that JT was simply making up stories, trying to see if he could get away with the crazy scenarios he was describing. While Crutchie didn't feel up to calling out the obvious lies, Jack was eager to do so. "—and so, I finish climbing up that tree and I'm hundreds of feet up in the air and I can feel the whole tree shaking and I look to the West—or was it the East?—no, definitely the West because the sun was setting and I see this man robbing a small family down the road. Of course, I couldn't just let that happen, so I scurried down the tree, just as fast as I could go, and I reach the robber and I pull out a gun and—"

"You had a gun," Jack pointed out skeptically.

"Well, yeah, this is the 'Wild West' as you're so fond of calling it."

"Claude let you carry a gun around."

JT shrugged. "He didn't know. Can I finish my story?"

"Fine," Jack relented.

"So, I pull out the gun and I point it at the robber and he says, in this mean, gruff voice, 'Back off, kid. This ain't something you want to be a part of.' Well, I wasn't going to back off. Not when women and children are in danger, so I aim at the man and I pull the trigger and—"

"And you miss," Jack suggested, grinning. "C'mon, JT, we all know just how awful you are with a gun. So, the story goes that then the robber realizes you're all talk and no bite, so he captures you too. Then he slits all your throats. There's no other outcome in which you make it out alive. Crutch and I both know it's just a lie."

"Okay, fine, that didn't happen, but what if it did? What if I were just standing, facing down a robber, pointing my gun at him, my hand not even shaking? It'd be very exciting."

"I'm sure it would," Jack agreed, "but, it ain't gonna happen. Now, how much farther is this school house. Do you guys really walk this far every day?"

"Yeah, it isn't so bad, though," JT said. "I mean, you guys were newsies, so you're used to walking this far."

Jack shook his head. "No, not this far, usually. We would tend to have our own selling spots and stick within that radius."

JT glanced at Crutchie in surprise. "You said you were used to walking this much!" he accused.

Crutchie shrugged. "It wouldn't've made a difference, either way. And it ain't too bad for my leg."

Jack smiled wryly. "And this, JT, is exactly why you've got to take everything Crutchie says about his health with a grain of salt, eh, Crutch?"

Normally, Crutchie would have risen to the challenge, but he didn't feel like exerting the effort this particular day. Instead, he merely shrugged, continuing forward resolutely. Jack's smile slipped and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, taking reassurance that the newspaper that would solve all of Crutchie's problems at school was safely nestled in JT's old saddle bag slung over his shoulders. It would be all over soon and then everything would be back to normal. That's all that Jack wanted, their friendship to be back to the way it had been back in New York. So many things had happened: Crutchie getting sick, the bank robbery, running back to New York, so many things had kept their friendship apart and Jack was ready for that to be over and done with now. And if it took easing Crutchie's life at school, then it was worth missing half a day of work, even a full day of work, if it took that. Jack just wanted Crutchie to trust him again.

It took a while longer to reach the schoolhouse, but once they did, Crutchie hesitated outside the door. They had gotten there early, before most of the other children had arrived, which meant that Ms. Briarwood would be unoccupied and Jack could quickly explain everything. "Hey," Jack said quietly, placing his hand on Crutchie's shoulder. Crutchie knew it was meant as a comfort, but at the moment, the contact was stifling. He barely resisted pulling away as Jack continued to speak. "It's gonna be okay."

"Yeah, I know," Crutchie said, grinning up at Jack, but fearing that his oldest friend could see through the façade.

Jack grabbed the newspaper and entered the schoolhouse where Ms. Briarwood sat at her desk, reading a book. "How can I help you?" she asked, glancing between Jack, Crutchie, and JT.

"The name's Jack. I'm Crutchie's friend."

"Oh, you mean Christopher—" Ms. Briarwood began, but Jack cut her off.

"No, I mean Crutchie. That's his name. Anyway, I heard that you thought he didn't read, which I find pretty funny since he was a newsie and was able to read well enough to sell papes for the last decade. In fact, he helped start the strike back in July. Perhaps you've heard of it?" Jack challenged.

Ms. Briarwood fixed Crutchie with a fed-up look. "You should not be pulling random boys off the street to perpetuate your lies, Christopher."

"His name is Crutchie," Jack reasserted, his voice low and bordering menacing. "And I'se got proof." Jack slammed the paper on the desk, the sudden noise causing Ms. Briarwood to jump. "See this?" Jack said, pointing to the headline. "Newsies Strike Against Rise in Paper Cost. That's our headline. Look, that's me," Jack said, pointing to where he had been standing in the picture. "And there," Jack added, moving his finger to point to Crutchie's grinning face, "is Crutchie. We was both there. He ain't a liar."

The teacher stared at the paper. "Huh," she said softly, unable to deny that that was, in fact, Crutchie—no, Christopher's face smiling up at her from the paper. "And you can read?" she asked Crutchie.

Before Crutchie could answer, Jack spoke up for him. "Sure he can. Probably better than the lot of kids in here. He made a living off of readin'."

"He wasn't willing to read in front of the class," Ms. Briarwood pointed out, "and if Christopher isn't able to prove that—"

"For the last time, it's Crutchie! And he shouldn't need to 'prove' that he can read," Jack continued angrily. Crutchie stepped backwards, uncomfortable with the shouting match that he knew this argument would devolve into. He hated being the cause of others' distress and he didn't think he could stand being in the schoolhouse for a minute longer.

Crutchie began to back out, but was stopped by JT. "Hey, where're you going?"

"I need some fresh air," Crutchie said, leaving the schoolhouse before JT could completely hold him back.

Once outside, Crutchie breathed a little easier. He wished Jack would just go back to the ranch. He had told Ms. Briarwood that Crutchie had been a newsie, hadn't been lying, and Crutchie was thankful. But, Jack shouldn't need to be fighting like this for Crutchie's name. Crutchie rolled his eyes. Jack probably felt as if he were some knight, protecting Crutchie's besmirched honor.

"Well, if it isn't the crip, gimping back into my life," a cold voice drawled. Crutchie half-turned coming face to face with Phillip's hardened, gray eyes. "See," Phillip Beaurocrav continued, "you keep disappearing and getting my hopes up. First, you get sick. Didn't die, which is a pity. And now what happened?" Phillip's eyes flicked to the white bandage wrapped tightly around Crutchie's wrist. "Try to end it all?" The hard eyes turned back to Crutchie, menacing and challenging.

"I broke my wrist and then visited New York," Crutchie ground out. He was aching to punch the kid in the mouth, sick of the taunts and teasings. He had suffered through enough earlier and today he would actually take a stand for himself.

"Should've stayed," Phillip suggested. "Wish you'd just disappear for good. We'd all be happier if we woke up one morning and you were gone. No more crip to—" The remainder of Phillip's words were lost as Jack punched the aristocratic-looking boy in the nose. Phillip stumbled backward, his hand immediately flying to his bleeding nose. "What the hell!" Phillip shouted, glaring at Jack.

"Don't you dare talk to him like that," Jack growled, his eyes burning with righteous fury. Because, of course, Crutchie thought bitterly, Jack would never back down from a fight if someone was attacking—physically or mentally—one of his friends. Jack would never let Crutchie stand up for himself, probably thought Crutchie was incapable of holding his own.

"What, crip? Hire yourself a bodyguard?" Phillip taunted.

Jack's brows drew lower and tighter and Crutchie could see the anger building up, compiling into a bomb that Phillip would not want to be on the receiving end of. "He ain't a crip."

Before Phillip could respond to Jack with an, undoubtedly, derogatory comment about Crutchie's leg, Crutchie grabbed Jack's arm pulling him back. "Hey, Jack, it's fine. Calm down. Ain't nothing I can't handle."

"Crutchie, I—"

"Need to get back to the ranch? Yeah, you'se right. You can get goin'. Thanks for explaining everything to Ms. Briarwood, but I can handle everything else here."

"You sure?" Jack asked, recognizing a familiar light in Crutchie's eyes. Jack knew better than to tangle with Crutchie's pride and figured that now probably wasn't the best time to get in a fight with the boy. Especially since the last time they had fought, Crutchie had ended up on a train to New York with no intentions of coming back. When Crutchie nodded curtly, Jack backed off. "Okay. Okay, kid. But, if this snot ever bothers you again, just tell me. I'll see ya later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Crutchie said, thankful that Jack was willing to allow him to handle things on his own. Jack pulled JT aside to whisper something to the redhead, before making his way back to the Holloway homestead and ranch. Crutchie turned back to Phillip, who was glowering at him. "Just stop, okay? I really don't have time for all of this."

Phillip continued to glare, before finally turning away, his hand still pressed against his bleeding nose. "Whatever, crip," he muttered, the words nasally from the pressure on his nose.

After Phillip had left, JT quickly approached Crutchie. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize—I thought Phillip would be nice to you, that he'd understand."

"It's fine, JT. It wasn't ever anything I couldn't handle."

JT smiled at that. "I know. Big, bad Crutchie. There isn't anything that could hold you down."

For once, Crutchie smiled back, the motion genuine. When he and JT entered the classroom, Ms. Briarwood stopped them. "Christopher," she said, the name gentle and not biting like it generally was, "you may sit with John-Thomas and his reading group."

"Thanks, but if it's okay with you, ma'am, I'd like to still sit with the beginners. I'd like to do the same work level as JT and them, but I like helpin' out Susie, David, and Grant. They'se getting' real far in the primer book and I like to help teach 'em that."

Ms. Briarwood flinched at Crutchie's incorrect grammar, before nodding slowly. "Okay, but I will be by to make sure you're teaching them correctly."

Crutchie grinned wryly. "Wouldn't expect it any other way." As he made his way to the three six year olds, Phillip stepped out of his way, giving him a wide berth. Once he reached the familiar table, Grant and David bombarded him with a barrage of questions about his whereabouts in the past week and a half and Susie blinked at him as demurely as a six year old can manage.

Yes, things were finally looking up.

* * *

"Ma, I'm starving!" JT shouted, announcing his and Crutchie's arrival home from school.

"Well, you'll just have to starve a little longer," Sue informed her son. "We're heading over to Clark's place for his birthday, remember?"

JT's face lit up with excitement. "Oh, yeah! I forgot! Can we leave now?"

"Not until your father, Syd, Jessie, and Jack get back from the ranch. They should be back any moment now."

As if the ranchers were taking cues, the four of them entered the house only seconds after the words left Sue's mouth. Claude crossed the room, gently kissing his wife, to which JT faked gagging, making loud retching noises until his parents parted. Syd and Jack were sweaty and grinning. Jack's grin widened when he caught sight of Crutchie, shooting him a thumbs up. Crutchie couldn't help smiling and lifting his thumb in response. It had been one of the best days at school for a long time. Crutchie had been able to help the three beginners, who were pages ahead of where they were supposed to be. Ms. Briarwood had been more respectful to him, only correcting his usage of "we'se" once and not even threatening him with the switch. Phillip had avoided him all day, settling for signing rude gestures from across the yard that really didn't bother Crutchie. As much as he hated having Jack come to the rescue all the time, he truly was thankful for the results. And he didn't mind letting Jack know that it had helped. Crutchie's smile widened when he noticed the relief in Jack's eyes.

Jessie, on the other hand, was not smiling. She was pale, sweat dotting her temples and her mouth was set in a firm line that looked somewhat strained. "Ma," she began softly, "I'm not feeling so great."

"Are you sick?" Sue asked, gently leading her daughter to a chair and helping her sit down.

"I—I don't think so. I'm just really tired. Exhausted, practically."

"Do you want to stay home?"

Jessie hesitated, before nodding slightly. "Maybe. I don't want to miss Clark's birthday, though. I just feel absolutely awful."

"I don't want to miss Clark's birthday, either," JT pouted, "so she better come. I'm not letting Jessie's stupid sickness mess this up."

"JT," Sue scolded. "Your sister is sick. How would you feel if you were sick?"

"I'd still want to go to Clark's place," JT insisted, crossing his arms against his chest defensively.

Jessie spoke up, her voice quiet. "It's fine, ma. You guys can go. I'll just stay and sleep it off. Hopefully, I'll be better tomorrow morning."

"I don't want you staying here alone," Sue said doubtfully.

"You promised Clark you'd be there," Jessie pointed out. "It's really okay."

Sue glanced at Claude. The older couple seemed to discuss the situation without saying a single word, their eyes speaking for them. That had always been something that amazed Crutchie: when couples were able to hold a conversation without a word leaving their mouths because they knew each other well enough already. He had known Jack for a decade, now, but they still had not reached that point in their friendship, if they ever would. Crutchie doubted that he'd ever have anyone that knew him well enough that they could speak with eyes alone. Claude nodded briefly and, finally, Sue relented. "Okay, honey, stay home. But, I'm still not comfortable leaving you home alone."

"I can take care of myself," Jessie pointed out.

"Maybe Crutchie should stay with you, just in case," Sue suggested.

"In case of what?" Jessie asked, bitterness creeping into her words. "If it's for my protection, I'm sorry to point out that I'd probably have to protect him, instead of the other way around."

"I think it would benefit the pair of you to get to know each other better."

Jessie stared at her mother. "I'll be asleep," she deadpanned. "But, fine, he can stay. I'm going to bed, though." With that, she left the room, heading to her bedroom.

Sue turned to Crutchie, who hadn't expected to be dragged into the situation. "Are you okay with staying here? We'll bring you a slice of cake home," she promised.

"Uh, sure," Crutchie agreed. "I don't mind."

"Thank you," Sue said, hugging the crippled boy. The sudden human contact startled Crutchie, but he quickly relaxed into the hug. "We just want the two of you to get to know each other better and this might help."

Jack leaned over to Crutchie once Sue had turned to Syd and JT. "Do you want me to stick around, too?"

"Nah, don't worry about it," Crutchie reassured his older friend. "Go have fun. But, do bring me back some cake."

"What are you going to do while you're just sitting around here?"

"I'll just read that book Syd's always raving about. What's it called? Something li—"

" _Candide_!" Syd shouted, immediately butting into the conversation. "And it's absolutely fantastic. There's this part with these monkeys, and El Dorado, and—"

Crutchie grinned. "Okay, okay. Don't spoil it for me." He settled himself into one of the arm chairs, grabbing the well-read book—the spine creased and the pages dog-eared and smeared by grubby hands—and began to read. Crutchie reached for his familiar Stetson that had been draped over the arm of a chair and pressed that onto his head, relishing that he was living in Santa Fe with a family that cared for him, even if they were leaving him alone with the one family member that could care less. He listened as the Holloway family made their way out the door, all except Jessie who had disappeared into her bedroom, probably to go to sleep just like she said. Crutchie knew that whenever he was sick, it always helped to just sleep whatever illness was afflicting him away. The house was quiet and Crutchie quickly lost himself to the book. It was difficult to read and he didn't know all the words and didn't think he understood all the jokes, but he could see why Syd might enjoy it. Though, to go as far as naming his horse, Cunegonde… Crutchie felt that that was a bit too extreme for the situation.

There was a knock at the door and Crutchie stood up to get it. He was just pulling the door open when Jessie ran into the room, looking much too excited for someone who had claimed they were sick, shouting, "Wait! I'll get the door!" Her call came too late and Crutchie pulled open the door, revealing Gabriel.

He was dressed in faded black clothes, a dusty brown cowboy hat pressed onto his head. His hair was sweaty and it looked like he had just ridden straight to the Holloway's house. Gabriel stood there, his stance stiff and his eyes quickly hardening into black diamonds as they focused on Crutchie, whose greeting died on his lips.

The older Mexican glanced at Jessie, before gesturing to Crutchie. "I thought you said you were going to get everyone out of the house?" he asked angrily. "This just complicates things."

"Look, I tried," Jessie defended. "My ma wouldn't let me stay home alone, wanted the crip to keep me company."

"Fine, are you packed?" Gabriel asked.

Jessie hefted up an old, ragged carpetbag. "I've got everything I need in here."

"Wait, you're leaving?" Crutchie asked, his eyes widening.

"I'm eloping," Jessie announced, pleased.

"Y-you can't," Crutchie protested. "Not with the family you have. Y-you can't just leave them!"

"Why don't you shut your mouth, crip?" Gabriel protested, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Crutchie. "Or, I'll just shut it for you."

Crutchie immediately quieted, the familiarity of a gun pointing at him weighing heavily on his mind. Last time, Claude had leaped in front of the bullet and had been fine. This time, there was no Claude. And Crutchie doubted he would be fine if Gabriel actually decided to pull the trigger. All the happiness and relief he had just been feeling in regards to school, the Holloways, and Santa Fe in general fled, leaving him trembling. He could very well die in this moment.

"What the hell, Gabriel," Jessie demanded. "What's with the gun?"

"He's knows we're eloping. If he's still alive, he'll tell your father and he'll hunt us down and force you to leave me." Gabriel cocked the hammer of the gun back, the sound deafening to Crutchie's ears. He was going to die. He was going to die and there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. He was going to bleed out on the Holloway's floor and they would come home and he'd just be laying there, dead. Jack would find his bloodied body, would see Crutchie's death-stilled face, would grab at cold hands. Crutchie shuddered, wishing that there was some other way to end this encounter. "The crip's got to go."

Jessie glanced at Crutchie, before turning back to her fiancé. "No, Gabe, don't do this."

"Why not?" Gabriel asked, his voice just as hard as his grey, steely eyes that seemed to soften from the haunting black they had been previously at the sound of Jessie's voice.

"Because," Jessie continued, an edge of frustration tingeing her words, "if you kill him and my family returns and finds his dead body, my pa will whip up a posse to find us faster than you could mutter 'Santa Fe.' For some reason, my entire family is enamored with the crip; his death would make the lot of them go berserk. Even Clark would be pissed. No, he needs to come with us, at least for a while. The crip just got back from running to New York and they might think he went back. That would distract them from us. We can just drop him off in some backwater town on the way to Tucson. No harm, no foul."

Gabriel stared at Crutchie, seeming to contemplate the benefits of killing the boy right then or follow Jessie's advice. "Fine," he said, replacing the gun in its holster. "Fine, but once we're far enough on the way, we'll just drop him. Come along, crip."

"No," Crutchie said hoarsely. Because he wasn't a fool and he knew exactly how this would end up for him, even if Jessie was too blind to see. Jack's words from earlier rang in Crutchie's ears: _Well, now that we've been through a bank robbery, all we need to happen is a kidnapping and a murder. Then we'd really be gettin' the true Santa Fe experience, eh, Crutch?_ It looked like Jack was going to get his wish, though Crutchie wasn't exactly looking forward to that prospect. "No, I don't—I won't tell, I swear," Crutchie promised. If they just left him here, he wouldn't die. He didn't care that Jessie was eloping, really, he didn't. He just didn't want to be shot in the head, his lifeless body crumpled in a heap in some nameless backwater town. He didn't want Jack to forever wonder if the boy had just run off on his own again or find his bloodied body somewhere. Crutchie wasn't sure which would be worse for the older boy: forever searching or all hope being eliminated with one bloody bullet hole.

"Sorry, crip, you're comin' with us," Gabriel said, stepping forward to grab Crutchie.

Crutchie didn't think, he simply reacted, swinging his crutch out and nailing Gabriel in the ribs, hard. He sidestepped the swinging fist that attacked in retaliation, trying to stay out of Gabriel's reach. It didn't work. The older man was much faster and now enraged—his ribs still smarting. When Crutchie stepped too far out of reach, Gabriel leaped at the crippled boy, tackling him to the ground. Crutchie cried out in pain as all the Mexican's weight landed on his bad leg, his vision darkening for a frightening second, before returning. Gabriel didn't shift his weight; instead, he punched the younger boy. Crutchie's head jerked backwards, banging against the wooden floor. His vision swam, but was clear enough to see the fist coming again. However, there was nothing he could do to avoid it, could only steel himself for the impact. He remembered squeezing his eyes shut, then, nothing.

Blackness.

* * *

 **And thus we begin the final stretch. I've got a couple more chapters left (I want to say five or six, but who really knows with my track record...) and I'm sorry to say that just about all of them will end in a cliffhanger. Or, not sorry, because I'm writing them that way on purpose...**

 **On a happy note, I do have a story this week. This girl in my screenwriting class, a couple days ago, was talking to me and she said, "So, I noticed you were wearing a Newsies shirt last time." I responded with, "Yes, yes I was." She nodded and said, "So, do you like that musical?" All I could manage to say was, "Yes, yes I do. It's my favorite." And the entire time, I was just thinking, _Girl, you have no idea what Pandora's Box you're about to open. Newsies is more than just a favorite musical; it's my life, right now._**

 **So, yeah, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome! Tell me what you think about the ending or where you think this is going-there is one more big plot twist because I am the author and I reserve all rights to screw with your emotions in that way. Have a fantabulous week!**


	21. Chapter 21

**And a happy Monday to you all! So, yes, Wednesday is my normal update day, but I'm going out of town tomorrow night and I know I won't get around to posting while I'm on vacation, so here it is early.**

 **Regarding this story, I have come to the conclusion that if Jack invested in one of those kid leashes for Crutchie, he'd solve about 85% of the problems going on... Just keeping that kid within arm's reach would solve basically everything. Of course, then we wouldn't have a story and this fic would be really boring. And I'm so not into boring fics.**

 **Oh, and there is an important announcement at the bottom of this chapter, so do read that!**

* * *

Crutchie stirred, his eyes leaden. He didn't remember feeling this tired in a long time. Not since he had gotten back from New York, anyway. Generally, Crutchie felt like he was able to get a full night's sleep in the Holloway's home, didn't have to wake up too terribly early and there had only been a few nights—only one night that Jack knew about—when he had been interrupted by vicious nightmares. So, honestly, Crutchie should have no excuse to be tired. And, yet, every part of his body ached and his head was pounding uncomfortably and Crutchie just wanted to slip back into the heavy darkness of slumber.

With a groan, Crutchie turned on his side, his arm raising up to pull the pillow over his eyes, but there was no pillow within reach. Confused, Crutchie pried his eyes open, trying to make sense of where he was. He stared up at the night sky, bewildered by the stars above him. He couldn't possibly be back on the rooftop with Jack. He was supposed to be in—

"Oh. You're up."

Crutchie turned on his side, coming face to face with Jessie. "What's—" he began, before stopping. His jaw ached and he pressed his hand against the upper back part of his cheek, gingerly working the stiffness from his jaw. "What's going on?" Crutchie tried again, now that speaking hurt less. His jaw still felt strange as he spoke, but the pain wasn't suffocating. In fact, it was more familiar than anything else. The dull ache that arose each time he opened his mouth stirred up memories of the days spent in the Refuge, shortly after he had been beat mercilessly by the Delancey brothers and Snyder. They were memories that Crutchie did not look forward to evoking, but his jaw—Crutchie shook the tendrils of fear and hopelessness that always accompanied those moments, focusing back on Jessie.

Jessie stared at Crutchie for a long moment. "You don't remember. Figures," she muttered.

"How did we get outside?" Crutchie asked, watching as the firelight flickered across Jessie's face. Wait. Firelight. Fire. Crutchie turned even further on his side, noting the fire that cracked and hissed about five feet from him. Beside the fire, Gabriel and two men that Crutchie didn't recognize were speaking rapid Spanish. It all came back in a crash of memories: the carpetbag Jessie had been clutching, the pistol Crutchie had stared at, his crutch connecting with Gabriel's ribs. Blackness. With a groan, Crutchie turned away. "Wish you'd've just left me at home," he muttered, forcing the smile that threatened to break at the word "home" to stay off his face. He had just finally found a place to call home, a family that loved him, and now he was going to be murdered by some love-struck Mexican. Just his luck.

"We couldn't," Jessie pointed out. "You would have told my pa."

"And for good reason," Crutchie said, levering himself up on his elbow. "You shouldn't just be running off with Gabriel."

"You don't understand," Jessie hissed. "We love each other."

Crutchie rolled his eyes. "I get that, I do. But, did you ever stop to think that if you felt you needed to _elope_ it might not be the best relationship?"

"Pa wouldn't have allowed us to get married if we wanted to go a more traditional route."

"Perhaps he has a reason for that," Crutchie suggested.

"He just doesn't understand true love," Jessie shot back. "He's just some blind, old man that has never bothered to understand me and what I need."

Crutchie had bit his tongue to keep from arguing even more with her. To be perfectly honest, he didn't know why Claude didn't like Gabriel, but he trusted the older man enough to believe that there was some reasoning behind the disapproval. However, Jessie's closing comment immediately loosened his tongue. "Don't talk about Claude like that," he hissed.

"Why do you care?" Jessie challenged. "He's _my_ father, not _yours_."

And there was the rub to the whole situation. Claude wasn't his father. He didn't have a father, not anymore. Not after— Crutchie shook his head, "Maybe not by blood, but Claude is the only adult who ever took the time to get to know me. He took me in, like a _son_." The words were spoken with a sense of reverence because it had been so long since Crutchie had had a genuine family.

"Or he just pitied you," Jessie pointed out, the words a sharp slap.

Crutchie hadn't thought… What if he had been so hopeful, had yearned for a family so badly that he had misread everything that had happened? His mind flew back to that first breakfast he and Jack had had with the Holloways. They really had only taken him in because they needed Jack's help on the ranch. It had been pity the entire time and Crutchie had just been too blind, too hopeful to see it. He had let his guard down and now it was all catching up to him.

As if she hadn't noticed the way Crutchie's face had dropped and his right hand had slipped to his crippled thigh, rubbing self-consciously at the twisted limb, Jessie continued, "I mean, who wouldn't pity you? A crip with a bum leg and only one friend who gives a damn about what happens to you. If it weren't for my pa, you would have starved out here in Santa Fe, wouldn't have made it a week. Don't fool yourself," she spat. "It was only ever just pity."

"Hey!" Gabriel shouted, Jessie's sharp words drawing his attention from across the flickering fire. "Are you bothering her?" he demanded. When Crutchie didn't answer immediately—the fears he had fought off so long ago attacking once more, now stronger and practiced—Gabriel backhanded the crippled boy in the face.

"I'm sorry," Crutchie muttered, his eyes lowering instantly. He didn't know what to do beyond go along with whatever Gabriel wanted in some effort to stay alive.

"I don't want you talking to her," Gabriel commanded, his brown eyes hard.

"Okay," Crutchie said nodding softly. If he was able to get out of this kidnapping alive… Crutchie's thoughts paused. He didn't know what he would do, where he would go, if he survived. Crutchie didn't think he wanted to return to the Holloways, not if they just pitied him and kept him around because they needed Jack to stay. In fact, that was probably why Claude and JT had joined Jack when he had traveled back to New York to bring Crutchie home. Except, not home. Simply back to Santa Fe. There was still New York. Race had said that Crutchie could live with him if he ever needed a place to return to and it was starting to look like Crutchie may have to take the older boy up on that offer. That is, if he managed to survive this whole mess.

Jessie grinned at Crutchie triumphantly, before turning to Gabriel. "So what's the plan for tomorrow?" she asked. "Are we just heading out to Tucson to get that ranch?"

"I need to get some money from a bank before we actually get there. The guy knows me, yes, and he did promise the ranch to me, but it isn't free. Once we have the money, it'll just be straight to Arizona." He gently kissed Jessie. "It'll be a place of our own," he whispered.

"Okay," she whispered back.

"Get some sleep," he suggested. "We'll be getting up plenty early tomorrow morning so we can get to the bank, get the money, and be on our way."

Crutchie watched Jessie situate her carpetbag beneath her head and curl up towards the fire for warmth. He tried to get comfortable, pillowing his head atop his hands. It was still plenty uncomfortable and Crutchie wasn't entirely sure that he'd be able to fall asleep. Instead, he stared up at the stars, wishing that he, at least, had Jack by his side. Although, earlier that day, he had chafed under Jack's protective habits, he wished Jack would show up to fight off the other men and drag Crutchie to safety. And Crutchie would pretend to be upset, pretend his pride was injured. And Jack would hug him because Crutchie had had a gun pointed at his face and, if Crutchie were completely honest, it still terrified him a little bit. And Crutchie would hug him back because they were both still alive, because they were both safe.

But, Crutchie wasn't a fool.

* * *

Crutchie wasn't sure how he had managed to fall asleep, but he woke up to a swift kick in the ribs. "Ugh," Crutchie grunted, curling in on himself and opening his eyes just in time to catch a quick glimpse of the boot before it connected with the side of his head.

"Hey, stop." Jessie's voice. Crutchie was slightly surprised to hear her sticking up for him against Gabriel. Not that anything she said or did would stop him in the end.

"I'm trying to wake him up." Gabriel's voice. Crutchie recalled the first time he had met the Mexican that Jessie was infatuated with. He remembered the way that Gabriel had seemed so calm and courteous on the outside; he remembered how he had sensed a hardened interior, a coldness that he wouldn't show to the Holloways. And it looked like Crutchie would become well-acquainted with that other side of Gabriel before this whole awful situation was over.

"And you thought kicking would help."

"He wasn't moving," Gabriel defended.

Crutchie could practically see Jessie roll her eyes. "Get up, crip. We've got to get going."

Finally, Crutchie opened his eyes and levered himself up to a sitting position. His side protested the movement and he barely avoided wincing. There was no use in appearing weak to them. It would probably only convince Gabriel to kill him sooner rather than later. "Where're we going?" Crutchie asked, ignoring the low growl of his stomach. He didn't expect them to feed him and that was fine. He had gone on loads less before. But, that had been when he had been used to small meals that could tide him over for an entire day; now Crutchie had grown accustomed to plentiful meals twice a day, with a small lunch in between. His stomach was rioting against the lack of food, protesting the shrinking, starving it would have to experience.

Either Jessie and Gabriel didn't hear Crutchie's stomach or they just ignored the noise. "The bank," Gabriel said. "And we've got to get going before whatever men Claude has sent after us catch our trail."

Crutchie pulled himself to his feet, situating his crutch under his arm. He was thankful for that, he supposed. Crutchie had worried that Gabriel might have left the crutch at the Holloway's house after knocking the kid unconscious, but apparently he hadn't been that heartless. It was one thing to be dragged around by an eloping couple as some awkward third wheel—although, Gabriel did have two friends that were traveling West with them—but Crutchie knew it would be even more humiliating to be unable to stand on his own, let alone walk with his own volition.

He followed Gabriel and Jessie to where three palominos were tethered near the fire Gabriel's friends were putting out. "You'll be with Manuel," Gabriel informed Crutchie, before motioning to the shorter of the two friends.

"On the horse?" Crutchie asked, swallowing thickly.

"Yeah, on the horse."

Crutchie immediately balked at the idea. "N-no, I can't. I can't ride a horse. Last time—I just can't," Crutchie said. The last time he had tried to go riding, it had ended with him on the ground, his wrist broken, and unconscious for an entire week. Crutchie did not look forward to testing his luck on a horse ever again.

"You did just fine last night when you were unconscious," Gabriel muttered. "So, I'd recommend getting on that horse now, or finding your life ending sooner than you probably anticipated."

"I—I don't know how," Crutchie admitted.

"Inutil, indigno…" Gabriel muttered, grabbing Crutchie and swinging him atop a bareback palomino. Before Crutchie could slip off the horse, the small Mexican man, Manuel, hoisted himself onto the horse behind Crutchie, holding the crippled boy in place. "Bueno?" Gabriel asked.

Manuel nodded, before spurring the horse into motion. Crutchie clung to the mane of the horse, the familiar jouncing of the beast bringing up familiarly uncomfortable memories. To the right of him, Gabriel and Jessie rode the second palomino, with the third Mexican that Crutchie didn't know the name of yet galloping directly behind them.

They rode for nearly an hour before they reached the town with the bank. Gabriel had his men hitch the horses outside of the bank, before passing pieces of cloth to everyone. "What's this for?" Jessie asked, voicing the confusion that Crutchie was similarly feeling.

"We've got to get the money for the ranch," Gabriel said, shrugging. Beside him, Manuel was tying the black bandana around his head, obscuring the lower half of his face beneath the dark fabric.

"Wait, you aren't—you can't—" Jessie stuttered. "I thought you said you had the money for the ranch," she hissed.

"I said I'd get the money for the ranch," Gabriel hissed back. "Now put on that bandana. Both of you. It will only take a second." Gabriel fixed the red bandana over his own face and a shard of memory fell into place.

"You're…" Crutchie breathed, his chest hitching as he recalled that awful day that he had thought Jack was going to die, that awful day when Claude had been shot. "You're the bank robber."

"I don't know what you're talking about, kid, but I'd shut up real quick if I was you," Gabriel threatened.

"You shot Claude," Crutchie said, the shock morphing into a black anger. "You're the one who shot Claude in the bank." It all fit. The bandana. Those familiar dark eyes that looked cold and calculating. The gun in his holster, the gun that had been held against Jack's head. The gun that had been pointed at Crutchie just the night before. Everything had clicked together and Crutchie was beyond angry. "You shot Claude," he growled.

"Shut up, crip. It's not like anyone here believes your story."

Jessie's voice quickly interrupted. "Did—did you shoot my father, Gabriel?" Her voice was tinged with a nervousness that hadn't been present up to this point whenever she spoke with her fiancé.

"Look, Jessie," Gabriel began, reaching his hand out to brush Jessie's red hair out of her face, but Jessie would have none of that and stepped out of his reach.

"Did you or did you not shoot my father?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Gabriel sighed before answering, "Yes, I did. But it was an accident. I meant to hit the crip."

"He could have died!" Jessie exclaimed.

"But he didn't," Gabriel countered. "And since when did you care about your father? He's the one who refused to let me marry you. He's the one who never thought I was good enough for his only daughter." Gabriel shook his head, resituating the bandana. "Let's just get this over with and get to Tucson. Everything will be better there." He helped Jessie tie the bandana around her face, while Manuel and the third Mexican quickly tied the bandana around Crutchie's head.

Crutchie's heart pounded as they entered the bank, Gabriel grabbing at some kid that had been skipping around the bank's lobby and pointing the gun at the child's hair. It was like some horrible déjà vu for Crutchie, and he felt as if he were frozen in the spot, staring into Jack's fear-widened eyes. The bank teller, pale and trembling, led Manuel and the third man into the back, where the money was kept. A young woman, presumably the mother of the child in Gabriel's grasp, wept, her half-stifled sobs ear-wrenchingly loud in the silence. Jessie and Crutchie stood to the side of the room, observing the bank robbery as it unfolded before their eyes.

It didn't take long for Manuel and his partner to come back with full bags of money. "Let's get going," Gabriel told them and Jessie and Crutchie started to make their way out of the door, thankful that it was all over with. "Don't move or I'll shoot the kid!" Gabriel shouted, the gun pressing harder into the young boy's head. The kid, probably five, started crying even harder, but Gabriel ignored the boy's tears. "We're going to exit and I'll just leave the kid on the front steps of the bank, but if any of you follow us outside, I will kill the kid. Don't test me," he warned.

Once everyone was outside and Crutchie had been, embarrassingly, hefted onto Manuel's horse. Gabriel shoved the kid to the ground, before leaping on the horse with Jessie. He wheeled the palomino around and the trio of horses began galloping out of town, high-tailing it West. They rode as hard as the horses could go for an hour and a half, before Gabriel pulled his horse to a stop, the animal rearing its head back in ignorance. "We get enough money?" he asked. "Or do we need to stop somewhere else?"

Manuel shook his head. "We got enough. Alejandro counted."

Gabriel nodded. "Good. We've got to be in Tucson before the week is out, or else he'll sell the ranch to someone else."

The rest of the day passed like that, with the trio of horses pounding at a harsh gallop as long as they could go, before taking a short break and trotting at an easier pace until the horses had caught their breath again. Then Gabriel would whip the horses back up into a gallop and they would start the cycle all over again.

Eventually, they settled for the night, though Gabriel would not allow a fire to be built, much to Jessie's dismay. "We'll freeze!" she complained. "It's mid-November and—"

Gabriel tossed her an extra blanket. "We won't freeze. But, we can't risk being caught, not until we've bought that ranch. A fire's out of the question. I'm sorry." After he had made sure that Jessie was warm enough, Gabriel sat near Manuel and Alejandro. Crutchie assumed they were discussing what to do next, but he couldn't understand the Spanish they spoke.

"You warm enough?" Jessie asked, sitting down next to Crutchie.

"I'm fine," he lied. Gabriel hadn't thought to provide a blanket for Crutchie. Or, he had thought, but refused to divulge any of the blankets to the "stupid crip," as he was called by everyone. "I've been in worse." Which was true. Except, that he had always had a thick winter coat and was never too far away from the Lodging House, where there were blankets and laughter to warm him.

Jessie sat there in silence, before shrugging one of her blankets off from around her shoulders. "Here, you can have this," she offered.

"Thank you," Crutchie said, quickly wrapping himself in the thick fabric and warding off the immediate chill.

There was silence for a moment longer, before Jessie remarked. "I didn't think he'd rob the bank. I had thought…"

"I didn't think he would rob a bank, either," Crutchie said. "But, that doesn't cancel out the fact that he did. He would have shot the kid, too, if he had had to."

"He loves me," Jessie whispered hoarsely. "And I love him back."

"I know," Crutchie said softly. "But maybe that isn't the only important thing about a relationship. It _is_ really important that you both love each other, but you also have to be good for each other. Jessie, can you honestly say that he is good for you?"

"I—" Jessie began, but was interrupted when Gabriel stood up and quickly crossed over to where they were sitting.

"Hey, crip," Gabriel growled. "I thought I told you not to speak with her ever again."

"I know, but—" Crutchie began, but was caught off when Gabriel kicked him in the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs in a sharp wheeze. One of his large, booted feet came down on Crutchie's right hand, eliciting a cry hoarse from lack of air.

"Stop!" Jessie shouted. "I'm the one who talked to him first. It's my fault."

Gabriel glared at her a moment, before his eyes softened. "Okay, fine. Fine. Just don't talk to him anymore. He's just some stupid crip. Come over with Manuel, Alejandro, and I," he suggested.

"Okay, just don't hurt him anymore. He wasn't doing anything wrong," Jessie said, standing to join the Mexicans across the small camp they had set up.

Staring at Crutchie for a moment, Gabriel softly said, "Next town we get to, we're leaving that crip on the edge. He's too much work. You hear that, crip?" Gabriel said loudly, addressing Crutchie. "We drop you off tomorrow."

Crutchie's stomach tightened and his heart shuddered. This was it. This was the end. Tomorrow, he would be dead.

* * *

 **Did you see the part coming where it was revealed that Gabriel was the bank robber from Chapter 13? I tried to drop hints, but I wasn't sure how successful I was. And now you understand why Chapter 13 is the most important chapter of this whole fic...**

 **So, here's what's up. I've decided it would be fun for me and you if I did, basically, birthday fics. It works just as you'd expect it would. Leave me a review or PM me with a prompt-as vague or as specific as you'd like-your birthday (or when you'd like me to post the fic for you) and, if you're a guest, a username or some sort of name that I can connect with the fic. This is your moment to get the type of fic you've wanted to be written for however long. And this is open to everyone! I know there are at least fifty people who read this story each week. I will do something for all of you, if you wish. I would like to get most prompts in by January, so I have a game plan of what I'll be writing next year. However, if you don't have it in by January, please have it in at least a month before your actual birthday; that'll give me time to write the fic. So, if you'd like to participate review any of my stories or send me a PM! You're welcome to be as creative as you'd like; it's an exercise for me to stretch as a writer and for you to get a birthday present!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello, everyone! If you celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you had a fantastic one. I ended up seeing my parents for Thanksgiving, which was especially nice, because my mom greeted me by handing me a small ostrich figurine that she had found and thought I would appreciate. And, yes. I do appreciate it. His name is Philip and he stands by my laptop and watches me write.**

 **Anyway, this story is drawing to a close. We're looking at three more chapters after this one. (Which, can you believe it's almost over? This thing has been going on for months...) A very special thank you to everyone who has stuck around since the beginning back in JULY. But, ignore me and read on, my ostriches.**

* * *

Jack grinned as he carefully carried the plate with the two slices of chocolate cake up to the door of the Holloway home. He had been entrusted with bringing the cake home for Crutchie and Jessie, though, if Jessie were sick, she probably wouldn't be able to actually eat the cake. Jack wasn't entirely sure why Sue had thought him the most trustworthy, because he had spent the entire ride home in the wagon resisting the temptation to stick his finger in one of the slices of cake.

He had enjoyed himself at Clark's ranch house and wished that Crutchie had had the opportunity to come along with them. The entire meal had just been Clark teasing Syd, but then blocking any barbs Syd would try to toss at him with the excuse, "It's my birthday and you can't make fun of me on my birthday. Pretty sure that's the law, Syd-o." Syd had bitten his tongue, informing Clark that he would rue the day just as soon as it was Syd's birthday.

But now they had just reached the Holloway house and Jack was ready to relate all the funny stories from the night to Crutchie. He pushed the door open, Crutchie's name already on his lips, until he actually stepped inside the house. Everything was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, if Jessie and Crutchie were sleeping. However, for some reason, Jack couldn't shake the pit in his stomach that Jessie and Crutchie were not just sleeping, that everything was not okay.

One more step inside the house and Jack's worst fears were confirmed. Sort of. Crutchie's familiar Stetson was on the floor, slightly crumpled, as if someone had stepped on the beloved hat. "Crutch?" Jack called out, unnerved by the silence and the lonely Stetson. It was bringing back uncomfortable memories of when Crutchie had ran to New York and the cowboy hat had been left behind, glaring evidence that Crutchie was leaving all of Santa Fe—leaving _Jack_ —behind. "Crutchie? Where are ya?"

There was no answer and Jack's nervous calls had alerted JT and Syd of the possibility that something was wrong. "What's going on?" Syd asked, approaching Jack. Their parents were still outside; Claude needed to brush Storm down and Sue had joined him, so it was only Jack, Syd, and JT in the house at the moment.

"I—I don't know," Jack said, starting forward and grabbing the Stetson. "His hat. It… It was—"

"Did he leave again?" Syd asked.

"No, he wouldn't have," Jack quickly asserted. "Crutchie was happy. We had finally showed that teacher and that bully…" Jack whirled around, facing JT. "Was that bully still bothering him after I left?"

JT shook his head. "Not that I saw."

"Not that you saw?" Jack challenged, his voice suddenly taking on an intensity that Syd and JT had rarely heard from the New Yorker. Everything had been so perfect, everything had finally been right and now it was falling apart so rapidly. Jack felt as if he were drowning in half-realized fears and worries and suspicions. He needed to grab onto something to stay afloat, to keep the inky terror from clotting his veins and stifling his lungs. He needed someone to blame. And JT was the perfect candidate. "Did you ever see that kid picking on Crutchie before today?"

"Well, no," JT admitted, rubbing the back of his head with his hand sheepishly. "But—"

"So, you're saying that that bully could have still been messing with Crutchie today and you would have no clue. Do you even look out for the kid?"

"He doesn't always need 'looking out for!'" JT exclaimed. "Crutchie can take care of himself."

It was a biting comment, more painful than JT had ever meant for it to be. Jack didn't want to admit that Crutchie could take care of himself, even though he knew the truth of the statement. For, if Crutchie was no longer in need of protection, what use would he have of Jack? It had always been the two of them: Jack in the role of the protector and Crutchie, sometimes gracefully, allowing himself to be protected. What would Jack do if Crutchie no longer needed him? Could that be why the younger boy was suddenly missing? Because he no longer wanted Jack's protection in his life? In lieu of focusing on that fear, Jack decided to channel his gnawing anxiety and growing anger at JT. He shook the Stetson in JT's face. "Then, where the hell is he?" he shouted at the younger redhead.

Syd stepped in, taking up the role of the voice of reason. "Before we jump to conclusions, let's check the rooms, okay? He might have just gone to bed. Jessie's probably sleeping, too."

"Fine," Jack relented. He could still feel the icy fear creeping up his esophagus, choking him, strangling him, silencing him. Crutchie needed to be there. He needed to be okay.

JT glanced warily at Jack, before following Syd toward the room he shared with Crutchie. He suspected that Jack was overreacting. Not that JT completely blamed the older boy; he remembered what Jack had been like after Crutchie had run to New York. He recalled the red-rimmed eyes that stared out the train brokenly on their journey back East, until someone spoke. Then they shuttered emotions away and shone with a hope that Jack could brandish quickly and easily, a shining defense that hid the true emotions that flitted behind those bright brown eyes. JT didn't think Jack had truly slept the entire trip to New York, had just stared at the blurring scenery and picked at his palm. With a sigh, JT rubbed at his nose anxiously. He hoped that Crutchie hadn't run again. The boy just didn't understand what he was doing to Jack, disappearing like this. Crutchie didn't understand what he was doing to all of them.

When Syd suddenly stopped, JT barely avoided running into his older brother. "What?" JT asked. "What's—" He peered behind his older brother, looking into his room, not seeing anything that would cause Syd to stop. Oh. Wait. JT's heart dropped as he understood why Syd had stopped.

"He might be in my room," Syd suggested, as Jack stared at the empty space.

"His stuff is still here," Jack pointed out, his voice soft. "Would he have left without his extra clothes?"

"We don't even know if he left," Syd reassured Jack. "He might just be in our room, you know. Or maybe he's hanging out with Jessie. Maybe ma was right and they just needed to spend some time together."

"Because Crutchie and Jessie are such great friends," Jack muttered sarcastically.

JT nodded, agreeing with Jack. "We've only been gone for a couple of hours, Syd. What could possibly happen in three hours?"

Syd shrugged, pushing past Jack and JT and making his way to the room he shared with Jack, silently praying that Crutchie would be there. The younger boy had only been there for a couple of days and Syd worried how the rest of his family would react if they discovered that he had run off again. He hesitated outside his closed door for only a brief moment, before yanking it open. Nothing. The room was silent, empty. Crutchie wasn't there.

"No…" Jack whispered, his voice hushed. "No, no, no. He has to be here. He wouldn't've—He can't—He _has_ to be here."

"Maybe he's in Jessie's room?" Syd suggested, but the words were hollow and he knew it. To make it worse, he knew that Jack knew it also.

"Or, maybe Jessie knows where he went," JT pointed out, the words a somewhat effective balm to Jack's worry. "I mean, she's been here, too, so maybe, he just went out back and she'll know what's been going on."

Jack nodded, although the motion felt weak and forced. The three boys trekked over to Jessie's room and Syd quickly pushed open the door. This room was empty, just like the previous two. "W-wait," JT stuttered. "Jessie isn't here either?"

"Do you think they went somewhere?" Syd proposed. "Maybe they could have gone riding or… or something. It's not as if they could have just up and disappeared."

"Where would they have gone?" Jack whispered hoarsely. Crutchie was gone. Again. The grip he had on the Stetson tightened as Jack wondered if he would ever have the opportunity to return the cowboy hat to his best friend; last time JT had figured that Crutchie had run back to New York, but this time… This time Jack had no idea what had happened to his little brother, where the boy had disappeared to. He didn't think that Crutchie would have gone back to New York City: he had seemed so happy the day before. Of course, Jack knew, he _knew_ , that Crutchie was excellent at hiding his true emotions, but Jack had thought this time it had been genuine. Or, worse, had Jack merely been hoping that Crutchie was happy and had misread all of Crutchie's emotions and reactions. _Maybe you don't get me anymore because you don't take the time to listen_. Crutchie's words from before he had left for New York came back, a sharp memory that was all edges. Jack gripped the Stetson even tighter, fearing that he had been so focused on himself and ensuring that Crutchie seemed happy that he had, once again, not been paying attention to whatever Crutchie may have been trying to tell him. And now he had driven his best friend away. Again. Jack squeezed his eyes shut as the bitterness swept through him. Because, of course, he had managed to ruin everything _again_.

"Would he have gone back to New York?" JT suggested, hating that the words even needed to be spoken. He had hoped that Crutchie would have wanted to stay among the Holloways, had recognized that he had a family now and no longer needed to search.

"I—I don't think so," Jack muttered, but the words sounded doubtful, even to him. Jack no longer thought he knew the younger boy, could no longer predict his actions or understand what the other boy was feeling. Sometime between the strike and the present, a rift had grown between Jack and Crutchie and Jack was just barely standing at the edge of the gulf, recognizing how wide and insurmountable the distance was between them. He didn't know what Crutchie would have done, where he would have gone.

"And what about Jessie?" Syd brought up. "Why would she have just disappeared? Her and Crutchie weren't exactly close, so I don't think they would have just run away together, right?"

JT shrugged. "I don't know. Jessie's pretty quiet. What if she faked being sick so that she could run away with Crutchie?" he suggested.

"But why with Crutchie? They never seemed to get along," Syd pointed out.

"Maybe she wanted to go to New York and Crutchie agreed to take her."

"That doesn't make any sense," Syd said, raking his hand through his dark brown hair, the strands sticking up in diverse directions.

JT frowned. "Look, I don't know what happened, Syd! I'm just trying to put everything together!"

"And a fine job you're doing at that," Syd muttered sarcastically. Mockingly, he pitched his voice higher to match JT's and continued, "Maybe she wanted to go to New York." He glared at his younger brother. "That's the stupidest suggestion yet."

Tension was rising and tempers were thinning and Jack really just wanted to be out searching for Crutchie, not listening to Syd and JT argue about the disappearance of their sister and their friend. He stepped backwards, needing to escape the hostile environment, but unsure of where to go or what to do. The Stetson hung heavily in his hand, a constant reminder of Crutchie's sudden disappearance and the lack of explanation or clues to his whereabouts. Clutching the hat even tighter, Jack turned to start his search outside when he ran into Claude, who had come to investigate the raised voices.

"What's going on?" Claude asked, his eyes jumping from his arguing sons, to Jack, to the Stetson, and back to his sons.

There was a beat of silence before Syd spoke up. "Crutchie and Jessie are missing. They aren't in any of the rooms and we don't know where they could be," he said, his voice softening. He glanced down at the ground, not willing to meet his father's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Claude asked, his voice calm. The steadiness made Jack want to scream or shout or do _something_ because now was not the time to remain calm: Crutchie had disappeared and no one seemed to have any idea or indication of where the other boy had fled to. Or even why the boy had left. Though Jack was tempted to take on the weight of that blame. As much as he hated it, he expected that Crutchie had left because of something he had done.

"We've looked everywhere, pa," Syd admitted. "They aren't here."

"Did they take anything?" Claude questioned.

Syd shrugged. "Jack said none of Crutchie's clothes had been taken, but we didn't look in Jessie's room very carefully. It looks all the same to me."

"Well, that doesn't sound like they planned to run away," Claude pointed out, his mouth turned downward in a thoughtful manner and Jack could not understand why Claude was not acting anxious. Even if he didn't care about Crutchie—which Jack was nearly certain that he did—his only daughter was still missing, too.

"Do you think they were taken?" JT asked, his fearful words tinged slightly with awe. "Like, kidnapped or something?"

"Who would have kidnapped them?" Syd demanded, crossing his arms angrily. "It's not like we have the money to pay a ransom," he pointed out.

Claude held his hands up to preempt any further argument between Syd and JT. "No one has said anything about kidnapping, okay? We are not going to jump to conclusions before we know if anything has happened for sure." Once he was sure that Syd and JT were not going to argue any further, Claude continued, "So, here is what we are going to do. Syd, I'd like you to ride out and get Sheriff Palmer. We're going to let him have a look around and see if he can deduce what's happened. JT, you can take one of the horses out and search the ranch. Maybe Jessie and Crutchie went out there for some reason. And, Jack, you know Crutchie best. Why don't you go through his and JT's room and see if you can find any clue as to where he would have gone. Does that sound good?" When the boys continued to stare at Claude, he added, "It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out and get Jessie and Crutchie home safely."

Jack was still a little worried, but he figured that if Claude seemed so confident about everything working out, then he could borrow a little bit of that confidence. With one last glance at Claude, Jack turned to search Crutchie and JT's room. He pushed open the door, staring at the empty room for a long moment. There was a stifling sense of loss that haunted the edges of Jack's thoughts, tendrils of gray that darkened cheerful memories of a friendship that Jack had never foreseen ending. But, had he been too distracted with the present to prepare for a dark future? "Where are you, Crutchie?" Jack whispered, stepping into the room. He gingerly placed the Stetson on the bed, before going through Crutchie's drawers, searching for a clue to where his best friend had disappeared to.

There was nothing noticeable about anything, it seemed. The drawers had Crutchie's clothes folded carefully, a chore Jack had assisted with after they had returned from New York. Nothing looked out of place from the clothes he had helped sort through. In the back far corner of the top drawer, Jack found a small pouch of coins that had been collected, but Crutchie wouldn't have left without his money, no matter how little it was. He searched through the remainder of the room, but all of Crutchie's belongings appeared to be untouched. If the younger boy had left, he hadn't taken anything with him.

With a heart heavy with fear, Jack left the room to report his findings—or lack thereof—to Claude. He paused at the edge of the hallway when he heard Claude softly speaking with Sue. "Sue, I—I don't know," the older man whispered.

"Surely, they're just out on the ranch," Sue responded, an edge of hysteria to her words. "Where else would they have gone?"

"I don't know, but I won't stop until we find them." There was a pause as Claude sighed heavily. "Syd, JT, and Jack… they can't see us worried about this, okay? We have to—"

"Have to what?" Sue cut in. "Aren't I allowed to be worried about my daughter, about Crutchie?" she demanded.

"Let's just wait and see what Joe Palmer says. Maybe he can figure out what is going on."

There was a soft moment of silence, before Sue begged, "Can't we just have a moment of peace? Everything was finally looking up: Crutchie had returned, we were finally a family, Claude!"

"I know," Claude said softly. "And we still are. We'll find Jessie and Crutchie and they will be just fine."

"You don't _know_ that. You're just saying that," Sue murmured. "I can't do this, Claude. I can't lose them."

"We won't," Claude reassured his wife.

Jack listened as Sue sighed, before admitting. "I can't handle this right now, Claude. I—I'll be in our room. Talk to Joe. Find Jessie and Crutchie. But, I can't—"

"It's okay; I understand," Claude murmured.

Once he was sure that they had finished speaking and he wouldn't be interrupting anything, Jack turned the corner of the hallway. Sue glanced at him sadly, before taking her leave. Claude watched her go, only turning back to Jack when she had disappeared down the hallway. Jack shrugged. "It all looked the same to me. Nothing that I knew of was out of place," he admitted, his voice tinged with the heavy defeat that weighed down his shoulders.

"We'll find him. Don't worry," Claude reassured Jack.

But, now, Jack knew that those words felt just as hollow to Claude as they did to Jack, that Claude was keeping up the strong front because he felt as if he needed to. "I know," Jack lied, because how could he possibly know if he would ever see Crutchie again. It could be that Crutchie just no longer wanted to be a part of the Holloway family. It could be that Crutchie did not want Jack around anymore. That didn't quite explain Jessie's disappearance, but Jack could not bring himself to shake away the doubts and fears surrounding Crutchie's disappearance.

"Pa!" Syd shouted from the other room, drawing Claude and Jack's attention. "Sheriff Palmer is here."

Claude quickly entered the living room, shaking hands with the sheriff. Sheriff Joe Palmer was an older man, probably in his late fifties, Jack assumed. He had white hair that extended to the nape of his neck, pressed flat by the black Stetson he wore. The sheriff had sharp brown eyes that scanned the room and its inhabitants, before finally settling on Claude. "It's good to see you, Joe," Claude said, his voice quick and tense.

"Well, I hope I can be of help. Syd said Jessie was missing?"

"And Crutchie," Jack blurted out, miffed that his friend's disappearance had been overlooked.

The sheriff turned from Jack to Claude, staring at him inquisitively. "Crutchie?"

"He's a boy that Sue and I took in. Along with Jack over there," Claude quickly explained. "You have to help us find both of them."

"Is it possible that they ran away?" Sheriff Palmer asked.

The room fell silent for a moment, before Claude admitted, "We don't know. Crutchie has before. Jessie hasn't ever had cause to. I wouldn't think that they'd…" Claude trailed off, running his hand through his hair. "We just have to find them," he finished.

"If they ran away the odds of my men finding them—" Sheriff Palmer began, but Jack cut him off.

"Would they have run away without any of their belongings?" he demanded. "Crutchie didn't bring anything. All of his stuff is still in his room. His hat—" Jack began, shaking the Stetson in the air, before falling silent. Staring down at the floor, he continued after a soft pause, "He wouldn't have left everything." But that was a lie. If Crutchie was trying to forget all of his past, he might just leave all of his personal belongings behind. That meant, however, that Crutchie wanted to forget Jack, also, and Jack couldn't bear to entertain that thought beyond a brief moment.

Sheriff Palmer sighed, recognizing that there were not many clues to go on, that the Holloway family had no idea what could have happened to their daughter and practically-adopted son. "I will gather a group of men and at first light we'll ride out and search for them."

"First light!" Jack exclaimed. "You need to start now. We can't just—"

Claude gently cut him off. "Jack, they're doing the best they can. We'll just need to be patient." He turned back to Sheriff Palmer. "Thank you, Joe. I'll be out there with you, searching."

"Good," Sheriff Palmer said, nodding his head. "We could use all the help we can get." He turned to exit the house, before pausing. Slowly, Sheriff Palmer turned back to Claude. "I would like to warn you," he began, his voice heavy, "that the odds of us finding them are slim." When Claude's face fell, the sheriff continued, "I just want you to know because you are my friend and I wouldn't want to see you crushed by unfulfilled hope. If they ran away, they probably know how to avoid my men. And if they were kidnapped…" the sheriff paused, shaking his head, before continuing, "If they were kidnapped, our only hope is that there is a ransom note left. Otherwise, we just have no clues to work off of." Sheriff Palmer nodded once more, before leaving the Holloway's house.

Jack felt as if his stomach had been completely hollowed out by the sheriff's parting words. _The odds of us finding them are slim_. Crutchie was gone. Forever.

* * *

 **So, Jack finally got a chapter to himself. Yay for him. Next chapter we do go back to Crutchie and Jessie's predicament because, let's face it, it's a little more exciting than Jack stressing out. Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!**

 **And, there is still time to enter a prompt for that birthday one-shot thing for next year. This is your chance to force me to write you something happy. I was actually surprised to have a couple people request the sad stuff, which I will gladly do (perhaps too gladly), but this is your time to request a style or characters I haven't really written for.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Happy Wednesday! It's finally December, which is fabulous. It's been snowing where I live, which is even more fabulous. And did you guys see that they posted what move theaters are showing Newsies in February? Because there's one showing it in the town I live and i am about to die. Knowing me, I, quite possibly, may end up going all three nights. I'm just so excited to finally get to see AKB as Crutchie.**

 **So, here we are. Back with Crutchie and Jessie and Gabriel.**

* * *

"Hey. Hey," a soft voice said, pulling Crutchie out of the soft caresses of cushioned dreams. He cracked his eyes open, half-expecting Gabriel to be there, gun pointed straight between Crutchie's eyes. There'd be a gun shot and then nothing. Quick. Painless. Death. It would be over and he would never have the chance to tell Jack everything he had meant to say.

Instead, he noticed that Jessie was kneeling over him. "Hey," she repeated. "I wanted to give you a message before Gabe got up."

"What sort of message?" Crutchie asked, levering himself up on one elbow.

"I want you to make sure my parents know I love them, okay? When you get back, make sure they know."

"Oh," Crutchie said softly. She didn't realize. "I—I won't be going back," Crutchie stuttered out, the words muted with dread and fear. In just a few short hours… But, no, he couldn't think like that. He needed to stay positive. Crutchie just wasn't sure how to do that.

"What? Why not?" Jessie asked, leaning back in surprise.

Did she truly not see? Could she really not understand what was going to happen? Crutchie shrugged. "I know too much. I know that you and Gabriel are eloping to Tucson. He was never going to let me walk away from this camp alive. B-but," Crutchie continued quickly, fervently, "if you could tell Jack that he was the best brother a kid could ever hope for, that'd be real nice. It can just be a letter, if you don't want to go back, but he deserves to know after—after…"

Jessie shook her head. "No, Gabriel wouldn't kill you. He wouldn't…" but she trailed off, doubt clouding the words as memories flashed through her mind. There had been the bank robbery. There had been a gun pressed against the child's head. "He wouldn't," she repeated, but the words only sounded more hopeless and confused.

"I-it's okay," Crutchie muttered. "Like you said, the only one who ever gave a damn is Jack. Could you tell him—tell him what I said earlier?"

"It's not true, what I said," Jessie quickly cut in. "They all care about you. Pa and ma and JT and Syd. All of them. Probably even Clark."

Crutchie shrugged. "Guess it doesn't matter now. You're off to get your happy ending and Jack will finally have his happy ending, no strings or crutches attached."

"What about your happy ending?" Jessie whispered.

Crutchie's grin was forced and sardonic. "Not everyone gets a happy ending, Jessie." He laughed breathlessly, the only way to keep from completely breaking down, before continuing, "But, it's okay. I—I'll be okay. Well, not _okay_ okay, but…" Crutchie trailed off, before glancing up at Jessie. The way she was looking at him, her dark green eyes expressive with confusion, hope, and sorrow, all bundled into one… It made Crutchie want to tell her the truth. For some reason, he felt as if she deserved to know what he was really thinking. Softly, he admitted, "I don't want to die. Not yet. I'm not ready."

"You won't die," Jessie said, straightening her shoulders. "Gabriel won't kill you. He's robbed a couple banks, but he hasn't _killed_ anyone. And you haven't done anything wrong. He won't kill you."

"Well," Crutchie said quietly, running his fingers through the dirt. This could very well be the last time he would be able to feel anything as simple as dirt, to relish in the beauties of senses. He looked around, taking in the vibrant red of the dirt and the green of the grass, the brilliant blue of the sky. He breathed in the clean, fresh air, enjoying the burn of the cold air in his lungs. He listened to the soft rustle of the leaves, allowed the breeze to sweep his hair across his forehead. This was probably the end and he recognized that. "Well, just in case I don't make it out of here alive, would you mind telling Jack? Just 'bout him being a good brother and—and stuff like that?"

Jessie shook her head. "You can tell him yourself when you get back."

"Okay," Crutchie whispered, wondering if Jack would ever know what he meant to the younger boy, if he would understand how much Crutchie had looked up to him and loved him. He wished he had taken the opportunity to tell Jack how important he was when he had the chance. But, now… Now it was too late and Crutchie regretted that.

"He won't kill you," Jessie repeated emphatically, but Crutchie knew that the words were being used to convince her just about as much as to convince him. "He's just going to drop you off at the edge of some town. And then you can make your way back home. It's _Gabriel_ ; he won't kill you."

With those words, Crutchie realized that Jessie would never believe her fiancé had killed him, would forever assume that he had been tossed to the side, forgotten, but alive. And, if she ever took the time to visit home and discovered that Crutchie was not there, she would assume he had died or gotten lost on his way back to the Holloway house. Jessie would never accept that Gabriel had murdered him. For a moment, Crutchie wanted to shake her, to yell at her, to convince her that he was about to be slaughtered, but, he couldn't. No, Crutchie would allow her to live out the rest of her days in a blissful ignorance. Crutchie couldn't ruin her happiness just because he had happened to be dealt a really crappy hand in life.

That wouldn't be fair.

There was a brief moment of silence, before a harsh voice interrupted the easy, nearly comfortable silence between Jessie and Crutchie. "Hey, crip! Get away from her!"

When Crutchie did not move as quickly as a recently-awakened Gabriel expected him to move, the older Mexican quickly crossed the camp and wrenched Crutchie backwards by his still healing left wrist. Crutchie screamed at the sudden pain, grasping at his wrist which, knowing his luck, had probably been broken once more. As Gabriel jerked him away from Jessie with his bad wrist, Crutchie had to rectify the previous thought. It was definitely re-broken. He felt the bones shift painfully, his vision darkening around the edges as the pain barraged all of his senses. Definitely broken. Not that it mattered, Crutchie thought bitterly. Gabriel would probably just kill him within the next couple of hours anyway.

Crutchie's hoarse scream stopped Gabriel for a moment and he stared down at the crippled boy, glancing at the pale wrist tightly held in his hand. With a soft, malicious grin, Gabriel squeezed harder, the grin widening as Crutchie cried out in more pain. He jerked the boy upwards by the wrist, the crippled boy scrabbling at Gabriel's hand to release him, to end the pain. Gabriel fancied he could feel the bones shift underneath his hand as he yanked the sobbing boy to the side.

"Hey, you don't have to be so vicious!" Jessie shouted, leaping to her feet. "I'm the one who was talking to him first. He hasn't done anything wrong." Gabriel glanced between Crutchie and Jessie, before finally releasing the crippled boy. Crutchie curled into the fetal position, cradling his broken wrist to his chest as he choked out sobs. Crutchie had once thought what he had been subjected to at the Refuge to be the peak of pain, but Gabriel had just blasted those graphs away. There was no relief. None whatsoever and Crutchie just wanted to sink into darkness and be free of it all. Gabriel turned to Alejandro. He muttered something in rapid Spanish and Alejandro started saddling his horse. "What did you tell him to do?" Jessie demanded, avoiding looking at Crutchie. "What is going on?"

"Alejandro is going to ride ahead of us to be able to purchase that ranch. We need to get there as soon as possible and the time it takes us to drop this useless, good-for-nothing crip at the edge of a town will only slow us down. We'll be a couple hours behind him," Gabriel explained.

"But, you're going to drop him off, not kill him?" Jessie asked.

Gabriel grinned, the motion predatory in Crutchie's opinion. "Of course, Jessie."

Crutchie's heart sunk. This was it. This was the end. He was only sixteen, had never experienced half the joys of life he had hoped for. Gabriel hoisted him up, this time by his good wrist and handed him his crutch. "P-please," Crutchie begged. "Just leave me here. I won't tell, I swear." He hated begging, absolutely hated feeling as if he depended on someone, and always managed to avoid it back in New York. But, now, he was being forced to beg for his life and the action itself felt demeaning, even without Gabriel's poisonous words.

"Sorry, crip, this has been the plan since the start." Gabriel grabbed Crutchie's shoulder and forced him to quickly hobble over to Manuel, speaking to his friend in Spanish that Crutchie feared he didn't need to know to understand what was happening. He was telling the other Mexican to kill him. Gabriel, after instructing Manuel, turned back to Crutchie. "Don't sweat it, crip," he added. "It's not as if anyone is going to miss you and your deformity."

With that, Manuel grabbed Crutchie by his bad wrist, causing the crippled boy to bite back a hoarse cry at the sudden pain and sink to his knees, grasping at Manuel's grip on his injured wrist. Manuel must have realized what the problem was, as he grabbed the other boy's wrist and started deeper into the forest. Crutchie hobbled as quickly as he could to avoid face-planting in the ground. His mind whirred as he struggled to come up with some sort of a plan to escape with his life. There had to be something he could do to make it out of here alive. Crutchie refused to just give up and allow the Mexican to kill him. Not yet. Not when he still hadn't been able to resolve anything with Jack, not when he had finally found a family of his own. Not in this bitterness.

After they had walked for a couple minutes and were a fair distance from the camp, Manuel shoved Crutchie away from him, pulling out a gun. "Wait!" Crutchie cried out. "You don't have to do this."

Manuel shrugged. "Sorry, crip," he said, not sounding sorry at all. Manuel clicked the safety back.

Crutchie didn't think, he just reacted, swinging his crutch towards the older Mexican. The shock of the impact of the wooden rod sent Manuel toppling backwards, the gun flying from his grip. He landed hard on the ground, his head connecting solidly with a rock jutting out of the ground. Manuel's body shuddered once, before stilling. Crutchie breathed harshly, unbelief seeping through his veins. He was lucky. He was goddamned lucky. Lucky that the hit had managed to knock Manuel backwards, lucky that there had been a rock in the perfect position, and lucky that the Mexican was now unconscious.

He had never considered himself a lucky person: his life had been a series of misfortunes that had battered Crutchie back and forth. His father had died, he had contracted polio, his mother had been abusive, he had been tossed to the street, he had struggled to fit in with the newsies, had been dragged off to the Refuge where he had been beaten senseless, he had broken his wrist trying to ride a horse, he had gotten Scarlet Fever, and now he had been kidnapped by a love-struck Mexican simply because he had accidentally been present when Gabriel had meant to elope with Jessie. But, now… Maybe now things were finally looking up and his luck had changed.

Or, perhaps, he just wasn't meant to die yet. There had been countless moments in Crutchie's life when death had seemed imminent. He remembered cold nights huddled in the corner of an alleyway to block out the sharp wind that cut through his thin coat and chilled him to the bone. He recalled fever-fueled nightmares and the creeping sick that had travelled throughout his body, confining him to his bed. He could remember the hopelessness that had seeped into his frame like inky darkness, weakening him as he struggled to weather the Refuge. His mind flashed back to the gun Gabriel had pointed at him, the gun that had injured Claude in place of him, before jumping to the gun Manuel had planned to kill him with. And he was still alive.

Laughing somewhat breathlessly, Crutchie finally grinned. Now he could go back to the Holloways and everything would be okay. Except…

Crutchie paused, considering Jessie. He didn't know if he should try to provide a way for her to escape back to her family. She loved Gabriel, he knew that, but did she love her family more? Crutchie glanced at Manuel's unconscious form, before realizing with a jolt that it didn't matter what Jessie wanted because he needed to do something before Gabriel decided to figure out why his friend hadn't shown back up. Quickly, Crutchie undid Manuel's belt and tied the Mexican's hands together with the leather strap. He wished he had something to tie Manuel's feet together, also, but couldn't find any other rope-like objects that could do the job. He found Manuel's bandana he had utilized to rob the banks and stuffed it in the Mexican's mouth, just in case the man woke up and tried to alert Gabriel of what Crutchie had done by shouting. Once he had decided that Manuel was safely out of the picture, Crutchie scooped up the gun. There was one more thing he had to do to ease Gabriel's possible doubt. Carefully, Crutchie aimed the gun at the ground and fired off a single round. Now Gabriel would assume that he had been murdered and Crutchie could creep back to camp without fear of being expected.

Though, Crutchie realized, he had to be quick. If Gabriel felt as if Manuel was taking too long to return to camp, he may be tempted to investigate and then he would discover that Crutchie was not, in fact, dead. With the gun weighing heavily in his hand, Crutchie made his way back to the camp. As he neared the edge, he paused, voices carrying across the distance. It sounded like Jessie and Gabriel were arguing and Crutchie edged closer to hear what they were fighting about.

Jessie's voice was the clearer one. "You said you wouldn't kill him!" she shouted. Crutchie frowned. He hadn't expected them to be arguing about him and his supposed death. He supposed that he had been wrong in assuming that Jessie would live in blissful ignorance after he was murdered and briefly wondered if she would now be prompted to deliver the message to Jack that he had asked of her. Not that it really mattered. Crutchie could deliver it himself, just as soon as he got back to the Holloway homestead.

"Look, Jessie," Gabriel replied, his voice placating, "it isn't as if the crip would survive past the age of twenty. I was doing what was best for him; you saw how much pain he was in. It was a kindness, killing him. I shortened his suffering."

Crutchie edged closer, squatting behind a bush that allowed him to watch what was going on without being seen. He watched as Jessie took a step back from Gabriel, lengthening the distance between them. "No, that wasn't right. He was fine."

"You heard him scream when I grabbed his arm. That crip was in a constant state of pain. I saved him."

"He had a broken wrist!" Jessie shouted. "He didn't need to be killed!"

"Well, it's too late for that. Besides, he would have told your parents where we eloped to. We couldn't have trusted him," Gabriel asserted.

Jessie shook her head, falling silent. "No. He was right."

"About what?" Gabriel questioned.

"About this. About _us_ ," she emphasized. "I'm sorry, Gabriel. I can't do this. I can't elope with you."

"What?" Gabriel hissed, his voice lowering, almost threatening.

Jessie didn't seem to pick up on the dangerous tone that Gabriel's voice had slipped into. "I can't elope with you. I want to go home."

"I love you!" Gabriel shouted. "And you love me."

"I know," Jessie said softly. "I do, but maybe that's not the most important thing about a relationship. We have to be good for each other and Gabriel, I've been thinking, I don't know if you're all that good for me," she explained, parroting Crutchie's words from earlier. Crutchie hadn't thought she had even been listening, when he had offered his own two cents about their relationship, but, clearly, his words had gnawed and niggled at her conscience.

"Jessie, I—" Gabriel began, but Jessie cut him off.

"Please just take me home. Maybe we can try this again later, but, right now? Right now, I can't do this." Crutchie startled at Jessie's words. This meant that she would probably help him bring Gabriel down, incapacitate him somehow so that they could escape back to Santa Fe. Which was an infinite relief, because Crutchie doubted that he could do this on his own without her help.

"No," Gabriel said, shaking his head. "Not after all our hard work. We are going to Arizona, we are getting married, and we are going to be happy," he commanded.

Jessie shook her head. "No, Gabriel. Take me home. I'm not doing this."

"Too late," Gabriel growled. "You've made your choice and you're going to have to live with that. Now, where the hell is Manuel? We've got to get going." Gabriel questioned, staring out to where Manuel had disappeared with Crutchie.

"I refuse," Jessie shot back, starting away. Gabriel leaped forward grabbing at her and yanking her back to the horses.

"We are going, whether you want to or not," he snarled in her ear. She elbowed him in his stomach, trying to break free, but Gabriel held tight, one hand gripping her long red hair and the other pressing her tightly against him.

Crutchie realized that he had to do something now, before Gabriel hurt Jessie or realized that Manuel would not be making the entrance he expected of his friend. Taking a deep breath, Crutchie stood up, stepping past the bush and approaching Gabriel and Jessie. He held the gun, pointing it at Gabriel, trying to ignore the slight tremors that shook the firearm and the dull throbbing of his left wrist. "Let her go," he commanded, just as forcefully as he could manage.

Gabriel and Jessie froze in their struggles, neither person expecting to see Crutchie alive. "You're alive?" Gabriel muttered.

"It takes more effort than that to kill me. Santa Fe can throw all it wants at me, but I've still managed to make it out just fine. Jessie knows," Crutchie added, glancing at the redheaded girl.

She managed to grin at him, before speaking, humor tinging her words, "Oh, yes. We've already tried horses and disease and bank robberies and kidnappings, but nothing seems to work. Damned immortal crip."

"So, what are you going to do, shoot me?" Gabriel challenged, hitching Jessie up closer to him so that her body was shielding Gabriel from the path the bullet would take. "Can you even shoot a gun?"

That was the question, Crutchie realized. He had gone shooting with the Holloways only once. And they had all argued whether Crutchie was really lucky, or whether he was actually skilled with a gun. Crutchie hadn't minded the bickering, hadn't cared either way. But, now it mattered. A lot. If he missed, he would hit Jessie.

Steeling himself, Crutchie straightened his shoulders, leaning against his crutch to balance himself. He stabilized the gun, aiming for Gabriel's visible shoulder, hoping to injure the Mexican so that Jessie could escape. Carefully lining up his target, Crutchie steadied his breathing, focusing on each breath. He could do this. He could. "I guess we're about to find out," Crutchie muttered in response to Gabriel's question.

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

 **So, there are two more chapters left and I will actually be posting both of them next week because the week after I get to fly out to New York and see School of Rock! I'm so excited. Like, so very very very excited. Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hey, everyone! It's actually the penultimate chapter! A special thank you to all my guest reviewers! I wish I could respond to you all individually, but you all rock. Especially the guest reviewer from a couple chapter ago that I forgot to thank. I'm sorry. You are awesome also! And, happy birthday to Sheila Prior! Anyway, you should probably actually read this chapter... Stop listening to me babble...**

* * *

It happened so quickly that Crutchie wasn't entirely sure what had happened initially. The kick of the gun jarred his re-broken wrist—Crutchie had no doubts that Gabriel had managed to break the appendage once more when he had grabbed at it earlier that morning—and the pain had Crutchie sinking to his knees, clutching his wrist against his chest after dropping the firearm to the ground. He choked out a sob as the pain seemed unable to dissipate, steadily burning. Crutchie swore he had felt the bone shift again when the gun had kicked back and simply remembering that feeling made Crutchie want to vomit, to dispel whatever small morsels remained in his stomach.

As much as Crutchie wanted to just focus on his burning wrist and the vomit edging against his throat, he had to make sure that Jessie was okay. Crutchie glanced up, tearing his attention from himself and up to where Gabriel had been holding Jessie captive. To his surprise, he had done it. The bullet had pierced Gabriel's shoulder and it only took a few seconds to make sense of the scene before him. Gabriel was on the ground, clutching his shoulder and glaring at Jessie, who stood above him, a thick stick held aloft threateningly. "Don't move," she commanded.

"C'mon, Jessie," Gabriel tried, shifting slightly. "This was all a misunderstanding. Let's just go to Arizona and work things between us out there."

"After you kill him, I suppose," Jessie responded, tone sardonic as she gestured at Crutchie with her head, never taking her eyes from the Mexican on the ground.

"We don't have to," Gabriel pointed out. "If I had known the dumb crip meant that much to you…"

"No, Gabriel, I'm going home."

There was only a brief second of warning, a slight tensing of Gabriel's face, before the older man shot up, jumping towards Jessie. Crutchie quickly scrambled for the gun, not knowing of any other way that he could protect the pair of them from the Mexican. His wrist sparked even more painful as he tried to adjust the gun to the way he was supposed to hold it, blackening the edges of his vision. He couldn't do this. He _couldn't_ do this. Crutchie glanced back up, realizing that Jessie had managed to knock the Mexican unconscious with the large stick she had brandished. With a moan of relief, Crutchie allowed the gun to slip from his fingers, pulling his throbbing wrist back to his chest.

Jessie turned to Crutchie, alerted by the noise, and quickly asked, "Are you okay?"

"M-my wrist," Crutchie stuttered. "Re-broke it, I think." He grinned, though the action was pain-tinged. "We did it, though. We can go back home…" Crutchie trailed off slightly at the final word, unsure if he even had one.

Jessie smiled. "Yeah, we can." The smile faltered, for a moment, however. "That gunshot, back there, though, when Gabriel and I thought you were dead… Did you kill the other one? Manuel?"

Crutchie shook his head. "No, he's unconscious out there. I tied his wrists together, though, and gagged him. But, I shot the ground because I figured Gabriel would expect to hear that."

"That was pretty clever," Jessie admitted, sitting down next to Crutchie and glancing at her unconscious ex-fiance. They sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the unconscious Mexican a couple feet away from them. Crutchie held his wrist as the pain continued to steadily pulse up and down his arm. He didn't move to break the silence, content to just sit there are relish in the fact that he was _alive_. The silence stretched on, comfortably and tiredly, until Jessie broke it. "So… What do we do now? We can't just leave them here."

Crutchie shrugged, then hissed when the movement jarred his wrist against his chest. "I don't know," he bit out around the pain. "They should probably go to jail. They robbed at least two banks. Maybe more. Or, well, attempted robbery, when they shot Claude."

"I never would've thought…" Jessie breathed, before hardening her face. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. Let's get Manuel back to camp and make sure both he and Gabriel are securely tied up. We'll leave them here and ride to the next town, where we can send a sheriff or someone to get them and take them to jail."

"Sounds like a plan," Crutchie agreed, before admitting, "I don't know if I can help you drag Manuel this way. My wrist and my crutch…" he trailed off. His sole good hand would be necessary for walking with his crutch, leaving him completely helpless.

Jessie waved the concern away. "Don't worry about it. I've dragged Syd and JT around; I think I can manage Manuel. You just stay here and make sure that Gabriel doesn't wake up." She chuckled slightly. "I did hit him pretty hard, though, so I don't expect any movement, honestly."

Crutchie grinned. "Yeah, remind me to never approach you when you have a giant stick in your hand."

"You think Syd and JT would have come to that conclusion by now, but no," Jessie said, standing up. "I'll be back in a moment. You left him… that way?" she asked, pointing vaguely in the direction Manuel and Crutchie had taken when they left camp. Crutchie nodded.

After Jessie had disappeared further into the underbrush, Crutchie was left to sit there alone with an unconscious Mexican that had tried to kill him. "Santa Fe is a crazy place," he muttered, a slight grin touching at the corner of his lips. If someone had told him that the year 1899 would see him striking against the World, being beat near to death at the Refuge, moving to Santa Fe with Jack, participating in a bank robbery, and being kidnapped, Crutchie would have laughed and walked away. It had been a wild ride.

A grunt jerked Crutchie out of his reminiscing and he turned to see Jessie dragging the other Mexican to the camp. "Really," she muttered, her voice strained as she tugged the older and heavier man towards Crutchie, "couldn't you have knocked him unconscious a bit closer to camp? It would've been a tad more considerate."

"Next time someone tries to kill me, I'll try to keep that in mind," Crutchie muttered, rolling his eyes.

Once both Manuel and Gabriel were firmly tied—Jessie had found more rope in one of the saddle bags—and safely gagged, Jessie turned to Crutchie. "Well, we should probably head out and find someone to come get these two." She started to the horses and Crutchie followed her, before he recognized what the plan was.

"A-actually," he began nervously, "maybe I'll just stay with them. Don't you think someone should stay and make sure they don't escape?"

Jessie glanced at him in confusion. "Uh, no? I think we should get home."

Crutchie shrugged. "Yeah, but, maybe, I should just, uh, not go…" Crutchie trailed off, staring at the two palominos at the edge of camp. It had been one thing riding when Manuel had held him up and ensured that he didn't fall, but Crutchie knew that he wouldn't be able to ride without someone helping him. And he doubted that Jessie would want to help him ride a horse. She probably thought he was an idiot for even being scared of this…

Jessie followed Crutchie's line of sight, before realizing what was going through the younger boy's mind. "Is this about riding?" she asked.

There was a slight pause, before Crutchie nodded hesitatingly.

"Well, you're going to have to learn some time," she said. "And now is just about as good a time as any."

"Look," Crutchie began, "I don't think that—"

"Come on, when have you ever given up?" Jessie challenged. She lowered her voice before admitting, "There really isn't anything that can keep you down, unless you let it. You're stronger than this, Crutchie."

Crutchie's eyes jerked up in surprise at her. He had only heard her use his name once before and never had she addressed him personally by his name. Jessie noticed Crutchie's astonishment and smiled slightly. "You really think so?" Crutchie asked.

"If you've been kidnapped and nearly shot a couple of times, I'm pretty sure you can manage to ride a horse."

Cracking a slight grin, Crutchie admitted, "Well, when you put it that way…"

"I'll teach you. Sorta. I'm probably not going to be as nice as my pa would be. I'm not a patient person," Jessie pointed out, ignoring Crutchie's snort at the final comment. "So, first things first," Jessie began, once Crutchie had edged up to one of the palominos, "you've got to get on the horse."

"That's a problem. I've got a crutch and a bum leg."

"Then, use that to your advantage, idiot."

Crutchie smiled. "Okay, genius, how am I supposed to do that?"

"The way you're going to want to do this is by sort of jumping up with your left leg, the one that can actually manage that. You can use the crutch to basically keep the horse within a good distance by holding it over the horse's side. Then, when you push off, you can also use the crutch to lever you up from that side."

"Um, okay?" Crutchie said, still confused by Jessie's explanation.

Jessie stuck her hand out. "Let me see the crutch. I'll show you." She took the crutch and showed the younger boy what she was talking about. "And if you just kind of push off like this," she said, jumping up onto the horse, "you're good. If your wrist wasn't broken, you could also use your left hand to help pull yourself up. But, for now, I guess you'll just have to settle for it being extra difficult." Jessie extended his crutch back to him. "Now, you try it."

Crutchie took his crutch back from Jessie, before approaching the other palomino. "I can't guarantee I'll be as good as you," he muttered, edging up beside the larger animal. He tried to follow Jessie's example, but only succeeded in jolting his broken wrist against the horse's ribs. He bit back the cry of pain that bubbled up, before turning back to Jessie. "I don't know," he muttered. "I really think I should just stick around."

"Look, Crutchie, it's going to take more than just one try. It'll take practice, but once you get it, you'll have it down."

"That is _if_ I get it," Crutchie muttered, trying again. This time he managed to swing partially up onto the horse and Jessie was required to help push him completely into the saddle. Crutchie situated his crutch across the saddle in front of him, wishing he had a more convenient place to put the wooden rod.

"It was a good start," Jessie remarked. "Not perfect, but at least you're still in the saddle. Let's see if you can handle galloping the second time around."

"Do we have to?" Crutchie asked. "What if we just go slowly?"

Jessie snorted. "We're already nearly a two day's hard ride from home, but it will probably take us three days to get there, since we won't be working the horses as hard as Gabriel and the others were. So, no, we will not be going slowly." She grinned at him. "Time to sink or swim, Crutch."

With that, she flicked the reins and her palomino took off toward the East, heading back to Santa Fe. Crutchie frowned slightly, grasping at the reins with his good hand and copying the motion. His horse jerked forward, the motion nearly throwing him out of the saddle. Crutchie clung to the reins, grasping onto the saddle with his knees. He recalled Jack's words from the previous month when he had first attempted riding. _Just hold onto the reins and move with the horse._ As the horse sped up to catch up to Jessie's mount, Crutchie allowed himself to grin a little bit. He was doing it; he was actually riding a palomino. Just like Jack had dreamed of all those months ago, practically a lifetime ago. And it wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared it would be. As he grew accustomed to the way the horse moved, he found it simple to keep his balance.

When he had caught up to Jessie, he turned to her, grinning widely. "Look at me, ridin' in style."

Jessie smiled. "Yes, that's nice and all, but let's just get to the next town and on our way home." She quirked an eyebrow challengingly. "You ready to really ride a horse?"

"I was born ready, sister," Crutchie responded, urging the horse forward with his heels, the palomino breaking into a gallop.

"We'll see," Jessie muttered wryly, before urging her horse into a gallop after Crutchie.

* * *

It hadn't taken very long for them to reach the nearest town, which was barely a mile past their camp, and direct the sheriff there to go find Gabriel and Manuel. The sheriff had been shocked that two kids had managed to bring down two wanted men that had been searched for after robbing a string of banks across the New Mexico Territory. He had asked their names and their residence, offering assistance to return home. Jessie had explained that they would be fine, but had allowed the sheriff to refresh their stores of food, to which Crutchie was infinitely thankful, having not been given the opportunity to eat since the day Gabriel had kidnapped them.

Now, the pair rode in silence, following the roughly-marked road east. Crutchie didn't feel as if it were necessary to break the quietude, enjoying the time to have his thoughts to himself. For once, everything was working out for him. He hadn't died, which was a miracle, and now he was _riding a palomino_ back to the Holloway homestead. Jack had been right all along. Santa Fe was the place where dreams came true. They galloped onward, until Jessie suddenly pulled her horse to a stop. Crutchie wheeled his palomino around—still surprised that he had managed to control the horse to that extent—and trotted over to see what was wrong. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Jessie sat there in silence, chewing at her lip, before finally blurting, "I would've told Jack." Crutchie stared at her for a moment, as she clarified, "What you had wanted me to tell him. About him being a good brother. I would've told him." She shrugged awkwardly. "I just thought you should know that."

Crutchie smiled a little bit. "I had thought you would've."

"Oh," Jessie said, surprised by Crutchie's answer. "I thought—why do you trust me?" she demanded. "I've been nothing but a jerk to you since you and Jack showed up."

With a small shrug, Crutchie said, "You're not a bad person, Jessie. I've met my share of bad people—trust me—and you're not one of them."

Jessie stared at Crutchie for a brief moment, before muttering, "Well, we should probably get going. I want to get a couple miles closer, before we have to set up camp." Before Crutchie could respond with anything, she spurred her horse on, leaving Crutchie to shake his head and follow after.

The next three miles were traveled in complete silence. Crutchie had tried to start a conversation four separate times, but each time, Jessie remained tight-lipped and Crutchie had given up. He wasn't like JT and didn't think he was capable of maintaining a one-sided conversation for very long. Eventually, he just accepted that the journey back to the Holloway homestead would be silent and settled for relishing in the fact that he was alive, safe, and riding a palomino back home. _Home._ Crutchie couldn't wait to see Jack's face when he rode up nonchalantly, the horse snorting and rearing its head back a little.

With a start, Crutchie suddenly feared that Jack wouldn't be with the Holloways. It had been a couple days since he had disappeared and Crutchie was worried that Jack may have thought he had run off to New York again. He hadn't, didn't think he would ever have cause to return East, but maybe Jack didn't realize that. Crutchie hadn't taken any of his stuff—hadn't even gone willingly, mind you—but he didn't know if Jack would accept that as proof that Crutchie would be returning. With a wry grin, Crutchie realized it would be quite ironic if he had to go back to New York to find Jack, completely swapping roles for the situation.

But, hopefully, Jack had remained with the Holloways and Crutchie could simply arrive and astonish the entire family. That would be easiest.

It wasn't long before Jessie slowed her palomino to a walk, before completely stopping the horse. "Let's make camp here," she ordered, jumping off of the animal with practiced ease.

Crutchie was not nearly as smooth and ended up face-planting into the ground. Unfortunately, he had thrown out his hands to catch his fall, which had only resulted in him jarring his broken wrist. While Crutchie had been very careful to downplay the pain from the bouncing and jolting forward of the horse with grunts or short moans up to this point, he couldn't avoid screaming at this sudden shock. He recalled Gabriel's words from earlier, _it was a kindness, killing him. I shortened his suffering._ And maybe, Crutchie was forced to admit, maybe it would be a kindness to just kill him right now. Put him out of his misery.

A soft hand on his shoulder reminded him of Jessie's presence. "Just breathe," she commanded. "Breathe and the pain will lessen."

Crutchie shook his head because he was pretty sure this pain would not be diminishing any time soon. "Really?" he huffed out past the pain. "Cuz, it sure don't feel like it."

Jessie laughed a little bit. "Come on, it can't be that bad."

"Trust me, I'm just 'bout regretting not letting Gabriel kill me. Would've stopped all the pain."

Jessie jerked backwards, her face immediately hardening. "Let's just get some sleep," she advised, turning away from Crutchie.

"Look, Jessie, I didn't mean—" Crutchie began, but she had stopped paying attention to him and was pulling one of the blankets tighter around her shoulder as she settled onto the ground. Crutchie sighed, tying the horse's reins to the tree branch that Jessie had tied her horse to, before laying down a couple feet away from her. "It was just a joke," he tried, but Jessie still didn't react, turning so that her back was to Crutchie.

Crutchie carefully situated his broken wrist over his stomach, trying to keep from jarring it again. He sat there in silence for a moment, before deciding that he refused to have the night end on that note. They had made so much progress; Jessie had actually called him by his name and joked around with him. Crutchie recalled how Sue had wanted them to become friends and he was determined to not waste all the effort he had made. Completely changing the topic, Crutchie whispered, "We're almost home." He would try something happy. That should work.

Jessie was silent for a couple moments, before responding, "I don't think I'm going."

"What?" Crutchie exclaimed, sitting up quickly and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain when he bumped his wrist. "What do you mean?" he bit out past the raging fire in his wrist.

Jessie rolled over and noted the way that Crutchie was clutching his wrist, eyes closed. "You're an idiot, you know that, right?" she asked.

Crutchie nodded, a small smile working past his pain-pressed face. "It has been said. But, you're avoiding my question."

With a soft snort, Jessie admitted, "I don't think I'm going home."

"I know. You said that already. I'm asking what you mean by that, why you wouldn't want to return?"

Jessie was quiet while she considered what to tell Crutchie. The crippled boy waited patiently, not wanting to rush her into answering something so serious. Finally, she spoke up, her voice muted with shame, "I don't think I could bear going back and having pa look at me and know that I tried to elope with Gabriel. That I almost got you killed."

"Well, I'm not dead," Crutchie pointed out, smiling. "That's a plus."

"Because you're lucky. Not because I did anything to help you. I just can't imagine facing anyone in my family about any of this. I screwed up. Big time. There isn't any going back."

"See, if you had told me this a couple weeks ago, I would've agreed with you. I did the same thing, you know," Crutchie confessed, turning to meet Jessie's eyes. "I mean, I didn't elope or anything like that, but I thought I had screwed up so badly that I needed to get away and I ran to New York. You didn't even make it to Tucson, but I managed to travel half-way across the country. I got there and an old friend beat some sense into me and I realized that I had made a mistake, but I didn't think I could fix it; I didn't think I could go back." Crutchie paused, sighing. "But, Jack, your father… they didn't care that I had messed up and run. They just wanted me back home. It's the same with you. I guarantee your family just wants you to come home; they don't care about the mistakes as long as you're safe."

Jessie sighed, turning away from Crutchie. "This is different. I went completely against what pa wanted. I eloped with Gabriel. It's easy for you: you were kidnapped. You did nothing wrong."

Crutchie shook his head. "That's not how I remember it."

"Yeah, how do you remember it?" Jessie asked sarcastically.

With a triumphant grin, Crutchie waited until Jessie turned back to him, kicking the grin up a couple notches. "See, the way _I_ remember it, Gabriel kidnapped both of us. Honestly, neither of us did anything wrong."

"But… That's a lie," Jessie pointed out.

Crutchie shrugged, ignoring the way his wrist twanged at the movement. "It's how I remember it. And that's what I'll tell Claude what happened, if you want."

"Why would you lie for me?" Jessie asked softly.

"Everyone deserves second chances."

"So, I didn't elope with Gabriel?" she asked.

"Nope. We were both kidnapped. He was going to force you to marry him and I got in the way. Sound about right?"

Jessie finally smiled. "Sounds right to me." She fell silent and Crutchie shifted comfortably under his blanket, closing his eyes and allowing sleep to creep up to him. Just as he was on the brink of slumber, Jessie spoke up once more. "Thanks, Crutchie."

He smiled. In two days, everything would be back to the way it was supposed to be. For, in two days, Jessie and Crutchie would finally reach the home that Crutchie had dreamed of for so long, had yearned for for as long as he could remember. But, this time it wasn't a dream or a mirage. It was real and it was _his_ , maybe just as much as it was Jessie's. In the end, Jack had been right about everything and Crutchie couldn't wait to come trotting up to the Holloway homestead. For him and Jessie to return, riding palominos.

* * *

 **So, I know that there's another chapter and that button is probably tempting you right now, but reviews are always appreciated! I respond to all of them individually and if you're up for more conversations with me (if that's even a good thing...) that's the easiest way to start a conversation! But, other than that, go onto the next chapter. It's one of my favorites. :)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Here it is. The stunning (I hope) conclusion to Riding Palominos. It has been a crazy ride and I am so thankful for every single one of you. And, look! WE BROKE 100K! I'm so happy. Anyway, there will be a sequel that I'll start posting around mid-January. I've got to finish a couple more chapters in it before I'll fill comfortable posting it.**

 **Also, I have those birthday one-shots I'm working on, so I'm not going to be completely gone. If you would like, I posted what I have for birthday requests on my profile and you can check and make sure I have everything right. If you're not there and you want a one-shot, just send me a request!**

 **Anyway, this is all probably boring you. Thank you all once again, but go ahead, read the chapter.**

* * *

Jack poked despondently at the scrambled eggs on the plate in front of him. Jessie and Crutchie had been missing for five days now and everyone was giving up hope. The day earlier, Sheriff Palmer had returned from searching with Claude and announced that they would no longer be sending out search parties. "Look," the sheriff had begun slowly, once the entire Holloway family—minus Jessie and Crutchie, Jack noticed gloomily—was seated in the living room, "we have searched for the past three days with no results or clues as to where Jessie or Crutchie could have gone. If they ran away on purpose, they would have been on foot: no horses were taken from your homestead or stolen from any surrounding ranches. And I've had my men talk to the ticketing station for the train and they did not see Jessie or Crutchie. This means that, if they were nearby, we should've been able to find them, seeing as we were on horses and two kids on foot shouldn't have gotten that far." Sheriff Palmer paused, sighing. "Or, they were kidnapped. That is the more stressful possibility because, if that is the case, their abductors most likely had horses and were able to move faster and farther than us. We have not received any ransom notes that could give us a clue as to who would take your children and, at this point, it is very doubtful that they are…" he fell silent, rubbing his face with his hand. "I hate to say this, Claude, you know I do, but I don't want to give you false hope. At this time, I do not believe that either Jessie or Crutchie are still alive."

At that comment, Sue had immediately left the room, her face paling in an alarming manner. Claude had almost started after her, but had remained where he stood beside Sheriff Palmer. Syd had hesitantly spoken up, "What do you mean they aren't alive? If someone took them, wouldn't they want them alive?"

Sheriff Palmer, had taken his hat in his hands, before explaining, "We fear that the abductors targeted Jessie as a young girl and that Crutchie may have just gotten in the way. I have some men that are going to drag the Santa Fe River, see if we can find their bodies, but I'm not entirely hopeful."

"If you don't find them, doesn't that mean they might still be alive?" JT had asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Sheriff Palmer had said, but Jack knew that it was just a nice way of saying "no."

Jessie and Crutchie were dead.

The entire Holloway house had slumped into a broken-backed atmosphere. Clark and Mae-Anne had come over as soon as they had heard about Jessie and Crutchie's disappearance and hadn't left since. Clark was sitting beside Syd, speaking in hushed tones, trying to comfort his younger brother. Syd had been upset and had confessed that he should have stayed back instead of Crutchie and then, maybe, _maybe_ , everything would've been fine. He had explained to Clark, that, ever since the older man had moved out, it had been Syd's responsibility to watch over his younger siblings and he had failed. JT hadn't been much better, wishing that his final words to his sister hadn't been so mocking or mean and that he had been more sympathetic to her illness. After Sheriff Palmer had revealed that he suspected Jessie and Crutchie to be dead, Sue had disappeared into her room and hadn't left. Claude was with her now, Jack supposed. Mae-Anne had been the one cooking meals, now, and she leaned tiredly against the counter, a spatula in hand.

For Jack, however, it was worse. The other boy's words niggled at his conscience. Jack had asked Crutchie if he had wanted Jack to stay behind, too, and Crutchie had shrugged the suggestion off. _Nah, don't worry about it. Go have fun_. It was a reassurance, a good-bye to an extent that Crutchie hadn't recognized. And it bothered Jack. He shouldn't have relented so quickly, should have convinced Crutchie to let him stay. He should never have taken "no" for an answer. If he had known that that was the last time he would see his best friend, his _brother_ … There were so many things Jack had left unsaid because he had, idiotically, assumed there would be more time. And there wasn't. There was never enough time.

Jack had once bemoaned that he had nothing if he didn't have Santa Fe and had struggled, willing to give up everything, for a town he had only dreamed of. Now he had Santa Fe and he was discovering that he was nothing if he didn't have his brother, Crutchie.

But the realization had come too late. Crutchie was gone. Dead.

For a moment, Jack wondered what Crutchie's death had been like. Was it fast? Painless? Or did the tender life within Crutchie's eyes slowly fade as he coughed, blood dribbling down his chin, ghastly dark against the pale brush of death. Was he shot, a bullet crushing bones and brain matter in the briefest of seconds? A lightning bolt of blinding pain and then dark? Empty, immense dark. Or, would his body be found in the Santa Fe River like the sheriff suspected. Would his best friend be dragged from the water, hair dark and heavy, draped over sightless eyes that bulged from their sockets, skin an unnatural blue, rocks weighing down the feet? Water dripping endlessly, endlessly. Would there even be a body to recover? Or would Crutchie forever be gone, one more thing to add to the list of people Jack had lost because he was so. Damn. Stupid. Jack sighed, unable to take any more of those awful visions, before pushing his chair back determinedly.

"Where are you going?" JT asked, looking up at the sudden noise. He, also, had only been picking at his eggs.

"Away," Jack announced, not looking JT, Syd, or Clark in the eye.

"What—? Y-you can't," JT protested, his eyes wide. "You can't just leave us!"

Jack finally glanced at JT. "And why else should I stick around? Crutchie's dead," he bit out, the words edged and bitter. "He was my family. I don't have no one else."

"You've got us," JT pointed out, sweeping his hand across the table. "Me and Syd and Clark and Mae-Anne and ma and pa. We're your family, too! You can't leave us."

"It ain't the same," Jack muttered, shaking his head.

"Of course it's not!" JT agreed. "But, Jessie and Crutchie are—they aren't here anymore. That doesn't mean we can just give up. You can't just leave us, Jack. It's not fair."

Jack grinned wryly. "If life were fair, kid, Crutchie would still be here. Tell your pa I said thanks," Jack informed the boys, before starting out of the room.

"Don't do this, Jack," Clark advised, his voice soft. "You've got a good life here with us. Don't give it up because fate happened to screw you over."

"I can't stay here," Jack confessed. "Everywhere I turn, it makes me think of Crutchie. I can't do that to myself."

"And you don't think we are feeling the exact same way with Jessie?" Clark challenged. "She was my baby sister. You don't think I'm wishing there was something, _anything_ , I could have done to save her from this fate? You don't think everyone in this entire house is just about to crack from the guilt and pain?" He paused, shaking his head. "We've got to muscle our way through it, though. That's what they'd want of us."

"I—I can't."

"It's hard," Clark agreed, "but with strength—"

"You don't think I'm _strong_ enough to handle my brother's death?" Jack bit out, his eyes glistening from the combined efforts of fiery anger and heart-wrenching grief. "I'm sorry that I didn't _expect_ Crutchie to die when he was only sixteen. I'm sorry I wasn't _prepared_." The words grew louder and increasingly sardonic. Jack needed to shout, needed to scream at someone, if only to keep from screaming at himself.

"Jack," Clark began, "that's not what I meant and you know it. I'm just trying to say that—"

"No," Jack said, cutting the older man off. "I can't stay here. And I don't care if it's the weaker decision or the wrong choice. It's my life and if I don't want to live here any longer, I won't."

"Jack, please don't go," JT begged.

Syd finally spoke up, his voice hoarse. "Don't leave, Jack. I couldn't bear to lose you, too."

Jack glanced between the Holloway brothers, before shaking his head once more. "I'm sorry, I just can't. I'm glad I got to meet all of you, but I can't stay anymore." With that final comment, Jack left the dining room, trying to ignore the shattered look JT was giving him or the way Syd had slumped even further down or how Clark placed a comforting hand on Syd's shoulders. He couldn't think about that because he had to leave, he had to get out of there, and if he kept remembering those images, he might be tempted to stay.

He slowly gathered up his belongings, which now included a couple of Crutchie's things. Jack couldn't bear to leave any of Crutchie's items: it was all he had left of his best friend and he needed to cling to whatever remained. He reverently grabbed the familiar Stetson, unwilling to leave that precious memory behind. Crutchie had loved that hat. He recalled Crutchie's birthday, when he had given him the Stetson. It was only a couple of weeks ago. Crutchie had barely been sixteen and now he was gone. Forever.

Jack slumped down against the wall of the room Crutchie had shared with JT, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying to ground himself in the physical pain, trying to distract himself from the way he could feel his heart crumbling beyond relief. He hadn't thought… Jack had never even imagined Crutchie leaving him like this. And it wasn't something he could fix by traveling back to New York; there wasn't anywhere he could travel to bring his brother back home. He remembered when Crutchie had been dragged off to the Refuge— _Jack, wait! Help, Jack! Help!_ —but he had never thought the boy would have been killed, always knew that he could get Crutchie out of that hellish situation. Sure, the kid had been battered around a bit, but he was alive and breathing and smiling and back on his feet in no time. This was different. Jack had pushed too hard and Crutchie was gone. And there would be no rescue, no getting the always-smiling boy back.

He sat there like that for a long, grief-soaked minute, before pulling himself to his feet, staggering as he stood up. Jack had to move on, keep going, as much as he hated the idea. He would never forget Crutchie, but he couldn't just sit there and wallow in his loss. At least not in front of the Holloways. Once he got to wherever he was going… Maybe all the anguish would be over.

Jack gathered up his and Crutchie's belongings, making his way through the house—and there, in the corner, shadows of memories past. Crutchie, grinning, as he and Jack had watched Syd and JT play chess, a ghostly board with spectral pieces that shuddered and whispered. Silhouettes of the Holloways as they had surprised Crutchie for his birthday, the boy's face softening into an ethereal smile that seemed to remain, even after the spectral afterimages had faded. Blankets from nights passed, when Jack and Crutchie had curled up on the ground, words that had been spoken floating through the air, heavy and light, dark and white; Jack had to push through the cobwebby illusions that grasped at his sleeves, at his hair, holding him back, whispering, "Wait." He had only gotten a couple steps down the dirt stretch that led past the Holloway's property, when a voice stopped him.

"Wait, Jack!" Jack turned to face Claude, frowning at the older man. As he turned, he was surprised to see the entire Holloway family had made their way outside to stop him. Even Sue, who had only emerged from the room she shared with Claude a few times in the last couple days, was standing outside, her arms clutched around her to ward off a chill that Jack suspected arose from the inside, rather than the outside.

"Claude, I can't stay here. I'm sorry, it's just…" he trailed off, before admitting. "It's too much. I can't do this. Not without him. It's too hard."

"Jack," Claude began, crossing the distance and placing his hand on Jack's shoulder, "I know," he admitted. "It's too hard for me, also. It's too hard for all of us. But, if we stick together—"

Jack shrugged out of Claude's touch, shaking his head. "You don't understand. Crutchie was the only one I had growing up. It was just me and him. I—I don't know what to do without him. I don't think I can go on," he admitted, softly voicing the dark thoughts that had mocked and murmured in the shadowy recesses of his mind. "It ain't fair for me to be without him."

"No, stay with us. You have all of us now. We can help you and you can help us. Please, don't go," Claude said, reaching out to grip Jack's shoulder supportively once more. Jack hesitated, torn between what his shattered heart was telling him to do and staying with the only family he had ever known.

Sue's sudden exclamation, however, pulled Jack away from his decision. "Claude!" she shouted, drawing everyone's attention to her, especially that of her husband. She stumbled backwards, her knees giving out beneath her. Clark and Syd were immediately at her side, helping her stand.

"Ma, are you okay?" Clark urgently asked as Claude stepped toward his wife, worry etching itself across his features.

Her only answer was to point a trembling finger down the dirt path that extended past the Holloway's property.

In the distance, two riders could be made out, both astride galloping palominos. One had long red hair, tied into a thick braid and the other—Jack froze, his heart leaping to his throat. The other had a wooden rod balanced under his arm so similar to a crutch Jack knew too well.

"That—That's not—" Syd stuttered, hope lightening his eyes, throwing off the shadows that had stained his brow for the past days.

"Jessie and Crutchie!" JT shouted, stepping forward.

For, as the riders drew closer, it became evident that it was, in fact, Jessie and Crutchie returning home. They both reined the horses to a stop as they finally approached their dumbfounded family. Jessie and Crutchie were both smiling and Crutchie was the one to finally break the silence. He gestured to his Stetson in Jack's hand. "Don't tell me you was planning on stealing my hat."

"I thought you was dead," Jack breathed, a grin slowly crossing his features.

"That doesn't mean you get to take whatever you want," Crutchie groused, sliding off the horse. Jessie dismounted beside him. Crutchie had just barely hit the ground, when Jack swept him into a tight hug. "Careful!" Crutchie warned, before crying out in pain.

Jack immediately jerked backwards, his eyes roving Crutchie's body, searching for the cause of the cry. He noticed the way Crutchie was clutching his left wrist against his chest and Jessie spoke up, confirming Jack's suspicions. "The idiot broke his wrist again."

Crutchie half-heartedly glared at her. "Oh, like I did it on purpose," he muttered sarcastically.

"See, I seem to recall you _purposely_ antagonizing your kidnapper," Jessie retorted.

"Kidnapper?" Claude interrupted. "What happened to you two?"

Jessie glanced at Crutchie for support and the younger boy nodded imperceptibly. "Here's what happened," he began. "Shortly after you all left, there was this knock at the door and I answered it since Jessie was going to go to sleep. It was Gabriel." There was a sharp intake of breath and JT muttered something along the lines of "I knew it," before Crutchie continued his story, "Anyway, he was going to take Jessie and force her to marry him. Naturally, I tried to stop him. I got in a couple good hits before—"

With a scoff, Jessie corrected, "You were out within the first minute."

"I didn't see it coming," Crutchie complained. "And, besides, who is telling this story? Me or you?" When Jessie made no move to finish the story, Crutchie continued, "Exactly. So, I was out and when I woke up again we were on our way to Tucson. You know, in Arizona," he added, mostly for Jack's benefit. "Long story short, we found out that Gabriel is the bank robber from back when Claude got shot and we escaped. The end."

"The end?" Jack cried out. "That can't be the end. How did you get out?"

"And how did you re-break your wrist?" Claude asked, before adding, "Just as soon as you tell us, I'll go get Tim so he can patch you back up."

Crutchie shrugged. "Luck, I guess. For the escaping, not the breaking of my wrist. Gabriel was going to kill me and he had one of his buddies, Manuel, take me out away from camp to kill me, but we fought and somehow he hit his head on this rock and was knocked unconscious. I was able to make my way back to camp and help Jessie get out of there. As for the wrist, I was _not_ purposely antagonizing Gabriel," he glared at Jessie, before continuing, "I just happened to be talking to Jessie and he didn't like that and _voila_ , broken wrist." Crutchie bit off the end of that sentence, trying desperately to ignore the ghostly feel of Gabriel's unrelenting hands on his wrist, yanking, jerking—

"So, where is Gabriel now?" JT asked.

Jessie shrugged. "We left him and Manuel tied up back at camp and told the nearest town's sheriff about everything that happened. I'm assuming they're safely in jail now."

"Wow," JT breathed. "That is the coolest thing that has ever happened. You two could be famous!" he exclaimed.

Claude smiled softly, the first time in four days. "Okay, I'm going to go get Tim. No running off and no being kidnapped."

"No promises," Crutchie joked, before turning back to Jack. "You okay?" he asked, taking in Jack's disheveled appearance.

"Yeah, fine," Jack said, gently ruffling Crutchie's hair. "Just glad you're back in one piece."

"One broken piece," Crutchie corrected, gently lofting his broken wrist in the air.

Jack pulled Crutchie into a one-armed hug, careful of the other boy's left wrist. "I really missed ya, kid."

"Yeah, I missed you, too, Jack," Crutchie replied, leaning into the embrace, unable to voice just how much he had wished to be back with the Holloways, back with Jack. He breathed out a shaky sigh, so unbelievably relieved that Jack was even able to hug him again. There had been too many moments when he had feared that he would never see Jack again, let alone feel his best friend's comforting arms around him. "I'm glad to be back."

"And Jessie," Jack said, turning to the red-headed young woman, "thank you for making sure he made it back."

Jessie paled slightly before tossing half a smile Jack's way. "He's the one who shot Gabriel to save me. I didn't do anything."

"You shot Gabriel?" JT asked excitedly. "Where?"

"The shoulder," Crutchie admitted sheepishly.

"I hope you weren't aiming for the leg," Jack joked.

"Course not," Crutchie grumbled. "I happen to be a great shot. Besides," he added, "Jessie's the one that beat Gabriel over the head with a stick."

Jack and the Holloway children turned to Jessie. "You beat him up?" Syd asked. "How hard?"

"Hard enough that he was still unconscious by the time we had gathered up our stuff and left to go home," Jessie explained.

Syd whistled lowly. "Good work, sis. Remind me to never get on your bad side."

The Holloway children, along with Jack and Crutchie, made their way inside the house, where Sue immediately began to fuss over her recently returned children. "Are you guys okay? Are you hungry? Crutchie, be careful with your wrist. Dr. Cavanaugh will be here in a moment. Are you feeling okay, Jessie? You look a little pale."

"We're fine," Jessie said, leaning into the arm chair she had claimed as her own. She glanced sideways at Crutchie. "Right, Crutch?"

"Right," Crutchie agreed. "Good as new." When Jack shot a pointed look at Crutchie's wrist, Crutchie rectified, "Well, not good as _new_ , per se, but getting there."

The sound of the door opening announced Claude's entrance with Dr. Cavanaugh by his side. "So, we meet again, Crutchie," Dr. Cavanaugh said, crossing the room to where Crutchie continued to keep his left wrist carefully held against his chest.

"Sorry I'm not the 'great patient' you wanted me to be," Crutchie mumbled.

"How'd you manage to break it again?" Dr. Cavanaugh asked. "Claude told me you and Jessie had quite the adventure."

Crutchie shrugged. "It just managed to get broken," he muttered, not really wanting to relive those pain-filled memories. If he shut his eyes, he could still feel Gabriel's hand wrapped around his wrist, could still feel the jerk of his arm that—

"Come on, Crutchie," Dr. Cavanaugh said gently. "You've got to tell me so I can help you."

"It really doesn't matter all that much," Crutchie whispered.

Dr. Cavanaugh nodded before standing up and addressing the rest of the Holloway family. "Do you mind giving Crutchie and I some privacy? Just until I have him all bandaged and ready to go."

Claude nodded, gently leading the rest of the family out. Jessie cast Crutchie a mournful glance, before slumping out of the room. Crutchie bit his lip. He hadn't meant for Jessie to feel guilty; he just didn't want everyone to know about how Gabriel had treated him, how he had wished for death in that brief moment. Jack remained at his place beside Crutchie and Dr. Cavanaugh softly motioned for him to leave also. "No, I can stay," Jack said, searching Crutchie's face for… for something. Crutchie wasn't sure what Jack was looking for and couldn't work up the effort to figure it out. He lowered his eyes. "Can't I stay, Crutch? I just want to help."

"I—I know," Crutchie said, "but, maybe, I just want to talk to Dr. Cavanaugh first. Then you."

Jack's shoulders sagged. "Oh. Okay, well I'm here for ya, right? You can always come to me."

"Thanks, Jack," Crutchie whispered as Jack was ushered out of the room.

"Now, Crutchie," Dr. Cavanaugh said, sitting beside the crippled boy. "Whatever you tell me, I won't tell the others."

Swallowing hard, Crutchie explained. "Gabriel broke my wrist. He didn't mean to, not at first. H-he just grabbed me by my left wrist to move me out of the way, but when I screamed he realized that it was hurting and he started just, uh, squeezing it harder and—and, oh, god, I could feel the bones move and then he kept jerking me around by my wrist and it hurt so bad and I just wanted—" Crutchie cut himself off, shaking his head. "Manuel also accidentally grabbed me by this wrist and then I shot a gun a couple times and then I fell off the horse," he added, with a small grin. "The horse part was completely my fault, though."

"Are you okay?" Dr. Cavanaugh asked.

"Will be just as soon as you wrap my wrist up," Crutchie reassured the doctor, though he doubted the older man believed his words. This time, Crutchie wasn't even able to believe his words. He recalled all too many nights where he had awoken, his brow slick with sweat, from nightmares about the Refuge. Who knew how long Gabriel would haunt his dreams? For some reason, Crutchie didn't think he would be able to shake this experience as easily as he had shaken the Refuge into the past.

"Okay," Dr. Cavanaugh said, carefully resituating the bones and wrapping them with a splint to hold the bones in their correct place. "Okay, this should work for now. Do be careful with your wrist and, Crutchie," he added, making eye contact with the younger boy, "if you ever need to talk to anyone, you can always find me."

Crutchie merely grinned. "Thanks, doc, but I can take care of myself."

As Dr. Cavanaugh helped the other boy to his feet, JT burst into the room. "Hey, Crutch, some guy is here to see you," he announced.

"Who?" Crutchie asked.

JT shrugged. "I don't know. He just said he needed to speak with you and Jessie. Come on."

Crutchie quickly followed JT out of the room, ignoring the way Dr. Cavanaugh ran his hand through his hair tiredly. In the entry way of the Holloway's house, a young man with a bushy blonde moustache looked up. "Are you, uh," he glanced down at his paper, "Crutchie? Crutchie Holloway?"

"Morris," Crutchie corrected.

"Hm," the blonde muttered, glancing back at the paper. "Morris Holloway…"

"No, Crutchie Morris. Morris is my last name. Not Holloway."

"But, she's Jessie Holloway?" the blonde asked, gesturing at Jessie.

"Yes," Crutchie said.

"Hm. That's confusing," he complained.

Claude stepped forward. "May I ask what this is about?" he questioned. The words were stern, not harsh, but Crutchie could hear an undertone of protectiveness that colored the older man's words. And that made sense, Crutchie supposed. Claude had nearly lost him and Jessie. Of course the older man would be more hesitant about strange men and more protective of his recently returned children.

"Ah, yes," the blonde said. "Jessie Holloway and Crutchie _Morris_ ," he emphasized, glaring somewhat at Crutchie, "managed to capture two wanted men. There was a reward posted by the banks they robbed. Each of them gets $500."

Crutchie's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked.

The blonde nodded. "It would be more, but we haven't managed to find Alejandro yet." With that, he handed stacks of the bills to a dumfounded Jessie and Crutchie. "Don't spend it all in one place, kids." He tipped his hat in Claude and Sue's direction, before leaving the house.

"What're ya gonna do?" Jack asked, eyeing the money in his best friend's hands.

Crutchie grinned, before turning to Claude. "For the loan. I sorta overheard you before I went to New York." He held the money out to Claude, who quickly shook his head.

"No, Crutchie, I couldn't take your money."

"Think of it as a gift," Crutchie suggested.

"We really don't need—" Claude began, but Crutchie interrupted him.

"You can have the money, or I can give it to JT who would just blow it on chocolate."

"And a horse or five!" JT excitedly announced.

Claude smiled softly. "Are you sure?"

"Certain," Crutchie said, passing the money over to Claude. "It could be payment for taking Jack and I in."

Jessie handed her money over to her father also. "To say I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" Claude asked.

Jessie shrugged, not meeting Crutchie's watchful eyes. "I don't know. Not trusting you about Gabriel?"

"I'm just glad the two of you are safe," Claude said, pulling Jessie into a hug. His daughter initially stiffened at the contact, before relaxing and hugging her father back. They were all safe and nothing could hurt them again.

Crutchie laughed. "It was quite the adventure. But, I guess it all worked out for the best in the end, yeah?"

"You know what that makes me think of?" Syd suddenly announced, his face brightening. "There's this one part in _Candide_ , where—"

All of the Holloway children cut Syd off. "Shut up, Syd," they chorused.

Syd rolled his eyes. "You just don't understand art."

"The term you were looking for is obsession," Jessie pointed out, as JT laughed at his older brother.

Crutchie smiled, glancing at Jack. They had finally found a family. They had finally found a home. It had taken a lot and so many things had happened, things that Crutchie could have never imagined taking place. He had run away to New York, had witnessed a bank robbery, had been kidnapped, and had learned how to ride an actual palomino. He had broken his wrist, been struck down with scarlet fever, and had thought that he was going to die far too many times, in his opinion. And Crutchie wouldn't trade anything in the world for where he was now.

* * *

 _"_ _It is demonstrable," said he, "that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for all being created for an end, all is necessarily for the best end. Observe, that the nose has been formed to bear spectacles—thus we have spectacles. Legs are visibly designed for stockings—and we have stockings. Stones were made to be hewn, and to construct castles—therefore my lord has a magnificent castle; for the greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged. Pigs were made to be eaten—therefore we eat pork all the year round. Consequently, they who assert that all is well have said a foolish thing, they should have said all is for the best."_

-Candide, by Voltaire

* * *

 **So, I tried some new description techniques and I'd really appreciate if you guys gave me some feedback on whether those paragraphs worked or not. Yeah, reviews and constructive criticism are always very appreciated!**

 **Also, a preview of the sequel, The Hearts of the Palominos. It will be a romance. Or, rather, a bunch of small romances interconnecting. But, like, it will be an Ostrich type of romance, so it will include, in alphabetical order: abduction, arson, bullets, and death. It will be so much fun, I promise. I hope you all decide to stick around for it!**

 **Oh, and Victoria Pavone? I tried to do fluff. I swear, I did. I finished the chapter and thought, "Aw, that was fluffy enough." Then I went back to edit it a couple days later and nope. That was straight angst. Sorry. The sequel will have plenty of fluff.**


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